


The Softer Side of Draco Malfoy

by QueenofThyme



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 8th year, ? - Freeform, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Potions, Potions Accident, probably angst, update: yes angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 13:36:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 29,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9822929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenofThyme/pseuds/QueenofThyme
Summary: When Harry Potter's experimental potion ends up all over Malfoy, and he starts behaving differently, Harry is left wondering: what the fuck is wrong with Draco Malfoy?





	1. The Careless Side

So it’s Harry’s fault. Of course. It’s _his_ fault that Malfoy decides to use the Potions study room as his own personal bedroom. It’s _his_ fault that Malfoy enters without bothering to check if the room is empty. It’s _his_ fault that Malfoy and his boyfriend, Zabini, seem to think it’s okay to snog and walk at the same time with their eyes closed. It’s _his_ fault that he happens to be utilising the very reason the room exists in the first place and brewing a potion. It's _his_ fault that Malfoy crashes into his desk, flipping his cauldron over. It's _his_ fault that the potion lands all over Malfoy. Of course. Who else could there be to blame?

Malfoy screams. Just screams. It doesn’t sound as if he is screaming in agony, or even shock, more that he is screaming for the hell of it. Just to be dramatic.

It’s not until he turns around, covered in sticky dark green potion (the shade should really be a fraction lighter – had Harry used too much seaweed?) and sees Harry that he finally stops screaming. His face hardens, his eyes narrowing, lips curling.

“Potter.” He accuses, spitting out the name like a swear word.

Harry really doesn’t have time for this. This potion was weeks in the making, and something that he had worked really fucking hard on. Something he had been brewing without anyone else’s help or guidance. It was solely his work, and he had been incredibly proud of it. If he’d known it was going to be wasted on Malfoy, he really wouldn’t have bothered. Still, it’s not finished. He has no idea what the effects will be. It could be dangerous.

“Are you alright?” He asks, mostly out of obligation.

Malfoy’s eyebrows shoot up. “Am I _alright?_ Look at me. What potion is this? What have you done to me?”

Harry takes a step backwards. “It was going to be a vision improving potion but it’s not finished yet. I changed the ingredients a little so I don’t know how it – “

“This is an _experimental_ potion? Are you trying to kill me?” Malfoy is looking down at himself with a horrified expression.

“You’re the one who – “

“You did this to me,” interrupts Malfoy, his finger pointing straight at Harry. “And if I die, it’s _your_ fault.”

Harry rolls his eyes. Really, it’s a simple potion for eyesight. There’s nothing remotely poisonous in the ingredients. “You’re not going to die.”

Malfoy turns to Zabini, who seems to have luckily missed the potion. “Blaise, we’re going to the infirmary. And if I die, please kill Potter for me.”

Zabini glances at Harry, a scowl on his face. “Gladly.”

Harry watches them go. Malfoy isn’t likely to forget this anytime soon. Harry is sure Malfoy will make his life hell for the rest of the year. He had a momentary reprieve from Malfoy’s torments when Malfoy and Zabini shacked up. The distraction was enough to keep him away from Harry. The two seemed to be snogging at every opportunity which left little time for bullying. However, now, with Malfoy this mad, Harry doubts he will be so easily distracted.

Turning back to his potion, or what’s left of it, Harry sighs. There’s enough in the cauldron to try and continue but the portions will be all off now, and Harry isn’t sure he is talented enough to work it out on the fly. What’s the point? Malfoy will probably tip it over again, this time on purpose. He sinks down into a chair and waves his wand lazily. The potion vanishes.

 

* * *

 

Malfoy doesn’t turn up to Potions the following morning. Harry feels a twinge of guilt. He certainly doesn’t have well wishes for Malfoy but he doesn’t want anything bad to happen to him either, especially not at his hand. He tries to ignore Malfoy’s seat and concentrate on the classwork, but the niggling feeling stays with him.

Halfway through the class, Madam Pomfrey enters and speaks to Slughorn in hushed tones. Most of the class stop to watch. Professor Slughorn looks up and makes eye contact with Harry.

“Harry, my boy, would you mind?” He gestures for Harry to approach the front of the class.

Harry walks forward quickly. Anxiety takes hold of him and he has to stop himself from clutching his stomach . He isn’t sure what Madam Pomfrey’s presence means but it certainly can’t be a good thing.

“Mr Potter, outside please,” Madam Pomfrey says quietly once he reaches them.

Harry follows her from the classroom. They walk a short distance from the classroom door, clearly so as not to be overheard. With each step, Harry’s panic increases.

Madam Pomfrey turns back to Harry, her face very serious. “I understand Mr Malfoy came into contact with a potion you were brewing – “

“He knocked into me. I didn’t – “ Harry tries to explain before he is interrupted.

“I don’t care _how_ it happened Mr Potter. You can explain that to your Head of House. I only care about curing Mr Malfoy. If – “

“Curing?” Harry panics. “What’s wrong with him?”

Madam Pomfrey looks grim, too grim. “That’s not for you to worry about.”

“But if he – “

“The only thing you can do to help Mr Malfoy now is stop interrupting and answer my questions,” Madam Pomfrey says with a stern look.

Harry drops his head. “Sorry.”

“From the colour of the potion and Mr Malfoy’s limited information, I take it you were brewing Felicia Falcon’s eyesight enhancing potion?”

“Yes.”

“How far along were you in the brewing period?”

“Three weeks.”

Madam Pomfrey nods as if expecting this. “And what were the adjustments you made?”

Harry thinks back over the potion. “I reduced the portion of doxy eggs, increased the nightshade, added asphodel root and – “

“You added asphodel root?” Madam Pomfrey interrupts, her voice rising slightly. “And you still let the potion be stirred anti-clockwise overnight?”

A feeling of dread starts to build in Harry’s stomach. “Yes. Is that bad?”

Madam Pomfrey’s lips are pursed. He hasn’t seen her this angry since Professor Lockhart turned his broken arm into jelly in second year. “Mr Potter, until you have more experience with Potions, you should not be experimenting on your own. The slightest adjustment can completely alter the magical properties and to add – “

Harry can’t bear it any longer. He knows he has fucked up, but he is desperate to know what it has done to Malfoy. “Is Malfoy okay?” He interrupts.

“He will be.” Harry exhales in relief. “If I can get a sample of your potion now, Professor Slughorn and I can start to work on the antidote immediately.”

The dread rears its head agin. “A sample?” He repeats, hoping he has misunderstood, all the while knowing he certainly hasn’t.

Madam Pomfrey’s eyebrows tighten as if she thinks he is being difficult on purpose. “Of the potion, Mr Potter. Where is it stored?”

“It’s not...I…Sorry…I vanished it,” Harry says weakly, his eyes closed as he does. When he opens them it is to a stern Madam Pomfrey, her eyes wide.

“You had no idea what the effects would be after it came into contact with Malfoy and you didn’t think to keep a sample?” She says and Harry isn’t surprised to hear both anger and disbelief in her voice. He feels the same about himself right now too.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t…” A terrible thought comes to Harry’s mind, bringing the dread up from his stomach with it. “Will you still be able to cure him?”

Madam Pomfrey’s lip twitch. “I was able to take some of your potion from his clothes but it had already dried out. It’ll be difficult to work out the antidote with only that, but not impossible. I’ll have to speak with Horace. You should go back to your dormitory, Mr Potter.”

Harry blinks. “But class – “

“Is about to be dismissed. This is far too pressing.” Madam Pomfrey begins to walk back to the classroom, clearly indicating the end of their conversation. But Harry isn’t ready just yet.

“What’s wrong with Malfoy?” He calls to her back, but she doesn’t turn or answer. Harry is left wondering what he could possibly have done to Malfoy.

 

* * *

  

Harry thinks about visiting the hospital ward but quickly shoots the idea down. This is Malfoy. They hate each other. Why would he visit him? But Merlin, he has to know what’s wrong with him. Madam Pomfrey said she could cure him so it can’t be anything permanent, but how bad is it? Is he in pain? Harry tries to stop his mind from jumping to terrible conclusions but he can’t help it. Malfoy may be in agony right now because of Harry’s potion.

He hadn’t even intended to start brewing potions in his spare time. It just sort of happened. After the war, he found himself seeking solitude more often than not but not everyone seemed to understand that. Hermione and Ron took comfort in being with others, being with each other, but Harry couldn’t. For every smiling face he saw around him, there was another face in the ground motionless. Sometimes it was too much. His excuses for his absences just flowed out and the one that seemed to stick, that most people seemed to believe, was the most absurd of all – that he was brewing potions outside of class for extra credit.

One day, instead of just sitting in the Potions study room like he had been every time he could get away, he started flicking through one of the Potions books, which turned into looking over the ingredients in the cupboard, which turned into brewing a relaxation potion. It turned out terrible of course and he was far from relaxed, but after that he has never needed to lie about where he is. Well, the extra credit part is still a lie, but luckily no one ever queries that.

Now, he isn’t so keen on brewing potions. Knowing he has hurt Malfoy in some way is really stressing Harry out. So just to keep himself from losing his mind, Harry heads over to the Slytherin table at dinner. They see him coming before he has even passed the Hufflepuffs. Parkinson raises her eyebrows and nudges Nott. Nott frowns and nudges Zabini. Zabini jerks his head up and openly glares at him as he approaches. Harry continues regardless.

“Potter,” growls Zabini, once Harry finally reaches them and hovers awkwardly at the table.

Harry takes a breath. Surely the boy who lived (and died!) can handle Blaise Zabini. “Hi,” he begins awkwardly, “Is Malfoy okay?”

It’s Pansy Parkinson who replies. “No, of course not. He’s in the Hospital wing thanks to you. He’s going to have to – “

“Pansy,” interrupts Zabini, “No need to explain to Potter. He doesn’t care about Draco.”

“That’s not true,” Harry says automatically. Zabini raises an eyebrow. “I mean, I don’t care about Malfoy but I don’t want him to be hurt.”

“Get your story straight, Potter. You’re just worried you’ll get in trouble. Don’t worry, you could murder someone in cold blood and they still wouldn’t expell you. You’re the boy who lived. You’ve got a free ride for the rest of your life.”

“That’s…that’s not…”

“They’re letting him out tomorrow," Theodore Nott says. Zabini turns to stare at his friend. “What? It’s what he wanted to hear. Now he’ll leave us alone." Nott looks back at Harry. "Right, Potter?”

“Right,” Harry finds himself saying as he turns away from the table. So he’s out tomorrow. It can’t be that bad then, can it? Mostly relieved, he returns to the Gryffindor table, but he finds he can no longer taste his food.

 

* * *

  

The following morning, Harry rushes to breakfast. He has to see Malfoy himself and make sure he really is okay. He is one of the earliest to arrive and hardly anyone is about. That’s fine. He sits and waits. And waits. Hermione and Ron join him and try to involve them in their conversation but he isn’t interested. He watches the door until five to but no Malfoy.

Guided by his friends, he finally heads to class, but he can’t concentrate. Nott said he would be out of the hospital. So where is he? Did something else happen? Harry knows he is overthinking it but he can’t help it. It’s the guilt.

So when they finally reach the Transfiguration classroom and Harry catches sight of a platinum blonde head already seated near the front of class, he audibly exhales. Malfoy turns as Zabini approaches the table, leans up and plants a gentle kiss on the other boy’s cheek, smiling pleasantly. Despite their snogging session last night, Zabini looks surprised by this. He flinches and sits down with a frown. Malfoy’s face shifts to concern and he starts talking to Zabini in a quiet voice.

Harry isn’t able to hear anything from the other side of the classroom but he is relieved to see Malfoy looks completely healthy. Although it is very strange for Malfoy to be so openly affectionate, even towards his boyfriend. Perhaps a couple of nights in the infirmary has given him a new perspective on life? Harry very much doubts this. Still what other reason could there be? He wouldn’t be released from the hospital until he was fully cured, would he? He reasons with himself that there is no point in worrying further. Malfoy has been released and he looks healthy. End of story.

Finally able to breathe, Harry can focus on the classroom and forget about Malfoy. That is, until the end of class, when Malfoy stands up quickly and exits before any of his friends can follow him, but not before he catches Harry’s eye on the way out and smiles, actually smiles, not smirks, and says with a nod, “Morning, Harry.”

_The fuck?_

Something is seriously wrong with Draco Malfoy.


	2. The Trustworthy Side

_Morning, Harry. Malfoy_ said that to _Harry_ with a _smile,_ and Harry can’t think of anything else. The words replay over and over in his head, the image of Malfoy’s smile along with them. Harry has seen Malfoy smile before, but not like this. Not _pleasantly_ , and certainly not directed at him. The most frustrating thing is that nobody else seems to notice.

Harry raises it with Ron and Hermione right after class but they don’t think it is as strange as Harry does.

“It was probably sarcasm,” Ron concludes with a shrug.

“I’m sure it was a reflex. You made eye contact, he said good morning, he might’ve done it to anybody,” Hermione adds, her face serious but for a much different concern. “Harry, you’re not obsessing over Malfoy again? It’s not healthy.”

“No I’m not,” Harry says defensively, despite the fact that he _is_ obsessing over Malfoy. But he has good reason this time _and_ he had good reason in sixth year too! Malfoy was a _Death Eater_. And this year, he’s being _nice_. “He called me Harry. He’s never called me Harry!”

“You did save his life,” Ron offers unhelpfully.

“That was last year. He has been calling me Potter since term started. Now, today, all of a sudden, Harry. Neither of you think that’s odd?”

“Sure, it’s a little odd,” agrees Hermione finally, “but whatever it is, it’s a good thing. You and Malfoy don’t need to be enemies anymore. You’re both of age. The war is over. If this is Malfoy finally growing up and becoming civil, then there is no point fixating on it. Just accept it and move on.”

But Harry can’t move on. Despite what Hermione says, he isn’t convinced. Before he went to the Infirmary, Malfoy was absolute livid at him, and now upon his return, there is no anger. No snarky comments sent his way, no smirks, no hexes, just a friendly greeting in class. It doesn’t make any sense.

Over the next few days, he monitors Malfoy closely. Malfoy never appears at mealtimes, only for classes, and at the end of the day he disappears as if in a rush, hurriedly leaving before his friends can catch up to him. There is definitely something wrong.

On Friday, Harry is ready. As soon as Malfoy gets up after their final class of the day, he is on his feet too. When Malfoy hurries from the room, Harry is hot on his heels. Just as Harry suspected, Malfoy does not head down to the Slytherin common room but takes a different route. Harry follows up stairs, around corridors, down stairs again, out into a courtyard, back down another corridor, upstairs again, until finally Malfoy pauses. Although, unfortunately, it isn’t because he has reached his destination. He turns around. Harry watches from behind a pillar as Malfoy looks about, trying to keep his breathing quiet.

“Who’s there?” calls out Malfoy as he starts to walk towards Harry’s pillar.

Harry wishes he had thought ahead to bring his invisibility cloak. Did he really think Malfoy wouldn’t notice him following him? What an idiot he is. He steps out from the pillar with a sigh. “It’s just me, Malfoy.”

“Harry,” Malfoy says calmly. _Calmly?_ “Why are you following me?”

Harry is thrown. Both by the use of his first name again, and Malfoy’s calm attitude. Malfoy should be angry. He should have his wand out. He should be smirking and insulting Harry. Not this. Anything but this.

“You’re acting strange.”

A small sad smile appears on Malfoy’s face before it is quickly replaced with something bigger. Could this be a genuine smile from Draco Malfoy? “Are you concerned about me, Harry?’

Harry wants to yell at Malfoy to stop calling him that, but he can’t. For once, Malfoy isn’t provoking him, well not purposefully at least it seems. He can’t fight someone speaking so calmly. If it weren’t for that smile, he would have thought Malfoy was teasing him, but he’s not. He’s asking him a genuine question.

“Yes,” answers Harry truthfully before he can stop himself. Concerned that Malfoy’s not behaving like a total tosser as usual.

Malfoy nods as if he’s not surprised by the answer. “There’s no need to be. I’m truly fine.” His smile finally drops and he takes on a more serious face. “But I need you to please stop following me.”

The longer Malfoy speaks to him without raising his voice or drawing his wand, the more concerned Harry becomes. “Why?”

Malfoy drops his gaze and studies the floor intently. He takes a moment to reply, and when he speaks, it’s so quiet, Harry only just catches it. “It’s better if you don’t know.”

Harry frowns. He has never been fond of secrets. Or people deciding they know what’s best for him without his input. Although, there’s a part of him that wants to trust Malfoy. A bigger part of him doesn’t. “Where are you going?” He asks more aggressively than he intends.

“I can’t say.”

“You can’t or you won’t?” Harry challenges.

There’s a small hint on Malfoy’s face at this and his eyes dart up to Harry, but just for a second, before returning to the floor. “I’ve promised I won’t say anything.”

Alarm bells ring in Harry’s head. Is someone forcing Malfoy to keep quiet? Are they hurting him in some way? “Is everything okay?” He asks, forgetting for a second that he is Harry Potter and this is Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy looks up and finally holds Harry’s gaze. “It will be soon. For now, you’ll need to trust me.”

“Trust you?” Harry echoes automatically in disbelief, before realising he actually might. This smiling Malfoy, has a calming effect on Harry and he isn’t sure what to make of it. “Sure,” he adds before he knows the word is coming out his mouth.

“Thank you, Harry. I look forward to seeing you in class next week.” Malfoy walks away slowly, hands in pocket, leaving Harry, his feet frozen to the floor.

 _I look forward to seeing you in class next week. I look forward to seeing you in class next week?_ Just what is up with Draco Malfoy? _I LOOK FORWARD TO SEEING YOU IN CLASS NEXT WEEK?_

“Harry?”

Harry refocuses on his surroundings to find Luna Lovegood peering up at him curiously.

“Did the wrackspurts get to you?” She asks sympathetically.

“What? Oh, yeah. Must’ve. Excuse me.”

Relieved from his obsessive thought cycle by Luna, Harry’s mind becomes a little clearer. Malfoy’s behaviour must be related to the incident with Harry’s potion, and the only two people Harry knows have an idea of what happened, besides Malfoy himself of course, are Madam Pomfrey and Professor Slughorn. He doesn’t much fancy facing Madam Pomfrey again so he heads to Slughorn’s office.

When he arrives, he is pleased to find the door slightly ajar and the sound of the Professor’s humming leaking out. If Slughorn is in a good mood, it will be that much easier to extract information from him.

Harry knocks on the door gently. The humming stops and a short while later, Slughorn appears in the crack of the door. As soon as he sees Harry, the door is flung open wide.

“Harry, m’boy, come in, come in.”

“Professor,” Harry nods, entering Professor Slughorn’s office. He averts his gaze from the many moving pictures of his own face that stare at him with pity from Slughorn’s shelves.

“Something troubling you is it Harry?”

Harry makes eye contact with Slughorn as he answers, watching the Professor’s face carefully. “Malfoy.”

Recognition passes over his face immediately. “Ahhh. Sit down, Harry. Sit down.”

Harry follows instruction quickly, eager to finally be given an explanation for Malfoy’s strange behaviour

Slughorn must sense this as he shakes his head at Harry as he takes a seat behind his desk. “I can’t tell you much.”

“Why not?’ Harry asks quickly.

“It’s…” Slughorn hesitates, “…dangerous.”

Harry’s eyes widen, his heart races. “Is Malfoy in danger?” He asks, leaning forward in his seat.

Slughorn closes his eyes and sighs, which does nothing to quell Harry’s rising anxiety. “Malfoy,” he says slowly, “is only a danger to himself.”

 _Huh?_ Harry blinks in confusion. “What do you mean by that?”

Professor Slughorn looks like he might be about to answer but stops himself, fiddling with the papers on his desk nervously, avoiding eye contact. “I really shouldn’t be telling you anything at all.”

“Professor, _please.”_

“I’m sorry, Harry.” Slughorn says to the blank piece of parchment he is clearly pretending to study. “The less people that know about this, the better.”

Harry drops back against his chair dejected, realising he isn't going to get any information from Slughorn either. “Isn’t there anything I can do to help?” He asks, feeling incredibly helpless.

Professor Slughorn stops fiddling. “Try not to draw attention to Mr Malfoy’s behaviour. The last thing we want is for other students to fancy themselves muggle detectives like yourself.”

Harry appreciates the advice, it’s not the information he wanted but at least it’s _something._ Although he can’t help but wonder _how_ can anyone _not_ notice Malfoy’s behaviour? He leaves class early, he never comes to meals, he says good morning to Harry! It’s all very obvious to anyone watching him. Not that Harry makes a habit of watching him. He has just been worried about the effects of his potion is all. _Obviously._

“Is he going to…get better…soon?”

Slughorn grimaces. His voice is unnaturally cheery as he responds. “We’re working on it. Within a couple of months, we’ll be – “

“MONTHS?” Harry interrupts, almost jumping out of his seat. “You can’t cure him for months?”

Slughorn shuffles in his seat uncomfortably before fixing Harry with piercing eyes. “Do I need to remind you that it was _your_ potion that did this, Harry?”

Harry looks down at his feet. How could he forget? “No, sir.”

“I think you best be getting to dinner now.” Professor Slughorn says gently.

“Right,” Harry agrees, getting to his feet. He isn’t likely to get anything more off the Professor anyway.  “Can you let me know once you’ve cured him?”

“Of course,” Professor Slughorn says as he walks Harry to the door, “although I’m sure that will be obvious.”

Harry almost laughs, but the twisting pain in his stomach stops him. “Yeah.”

Harry turns to Professor Slughorn at the door to thank him. He doesn’t really know much more about Malfoy’s condition but at least he knows Slughorn is working towards a cure. However, before he can say anything Slughorn rests a hand on his shoulder. “Harry,” he says through gritted teeth, as if he doesn’t think he should be saying anything, “it might be best for you to stay away from Mr Malfoy. He's not…that is to say…for the time being, he isn’t the same Malfoy you know.”

“What do you mean?” Harry finds himself asking Slughorn for the second time tonight.

Once again, he doesn’t get an answer.


	3. The Helpful Side

_He isn’t the same Malfoy you know._

Harry can’t shake the words from his head as he lies awake in his bed. He knows Hermione will seriously reprimand him if she finds out how much he is obsessing over Malfoy again, but how can he not? Slughorn’s “answers” have only left him with more questions. It’s clear Malfoy is acting odd. He’s calling him Harry for Merlin’s sake. But why? What could Harry’s simple vision improving potion have done to him?

His thoughts are interrupted by an imposing creak of the dormitory door and a muttered, “Bloody Hell!”

Harry leans up to get a better view of the door and sees a tall shadow approaching. “Ron?’ He whispers.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Ron whispers guiltily as he scrambles into the bed next to Harry’s, “I didn’t realise the damn door was going to be that loud.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, letting Ron get comfortable in his bed. He resigns himself not to ask where Ron has been because he already has a very clear suspicion that he certainly feels better about _not_ confirming.

After a myriad of tosses and turns, Harry notices Ron roll over to face him. “Why are you still awake?” He whispers.

“Can’t sleep,” Harry responds truthfully – and vaguely – staring at the ceiling.

“Is everything alright, mate?”

Harry considers lying. He’s spent years keeping things to himself, letting dark thoughts grow and take hold within his head. But he doesn’t want to feel like that again.  “I’m worried -” he starts, bracing himself for Ron’s reaction to the next part: “-about Malfoy.”

Ron doesn’t reply for a moment. The room is still and Harry starts to think maybe Ron is asleep until: “Why are you worried about him?” Ron asks slowly. His voice is measured and Harry can tell his friend is trying to remain calm for his sake.

“I accidentally spilt an unfinished potion on him and it has…affected him.” Harry admits, not bothering to explain it was Malfoy who bumped into his cauldron. It doesn’t make much difference now anyhow.

“Affected him how?”

“Well, I don’t know. He’s acting strange but Madam Pomfrey and Slughorn won’t – “

“We should get Hermione,” interrupts Ron.

“Won’t she be asleep?” Harry asks without thinking.

“Oh, yes. Probably. I mean, almost definitely,” Ron says hurriedly, while Harry tries not think about his earlier suspicions again. “But I’m sure she wouldn’t mind us waking her for this.”

Explaining everything to Hermione and Ron gives Harry much greater comfort than he could have anticipated. Just from sharing the weight of the knowledge with his friends, Harry already knows he might finally get some sleep tonight.

“I don’t know why you’re so worried about this, mate. Seems you just managed to make Malfoy a nicer person. You did us all a favour.”

‘Ron!” Hermione half yells, half whispers. They have moved down to the common room but there is still a chance their voices might carry up to the dormitories. “This is serious. Slughorn said Malfoy was dangerous.”

“Well, he said Malfoy was a danger to himself,” Harry corrects.

“But what does that _mean_?”

Harry shrugs. He is glad at least that Hermione shares his frustration in not knowing, but he wishes more that she would have the answer.

“I’m going to the library,” Hermione announces, already heading to the portrait hole.

“Hermione,” Ron says gently to her back, “It’s the middle of the night.”            

Hermione turns back to face them, disappointment clear on her face. “Right. First thing tomorrow, I’m going to the library.” She looks at Harry with a sad smile. “Don’t worry, Harry. We’re going to work this out. In the meantime, no more experimental potions.”

Harry doesn’t need to be told.

 

* * *

 

The following Monday, Hermione isn’t at breakfast which isn't unexpected, she's been living at the library since the crack of dawn on Saturday. But when she also doesn’t turn up for lunch, Harry can’t help his own disappointment. He knows it was wishful thinking but he had thought she might have an answer for him by now, that Hermione’s trusty books would pull them out of another scrape. And they might still. He just needs to be patient.

Unfortunately, Harry Potter isn’t known for his patience. With Malfoy not at lunch, yet again, and Harry wondering where in Merlin’s name he could be, yet again, he has an all too obvious thought. The Marauder’s Map! Why didn’t he think to use it before? It’s been sitting in his trunk unused all year.

Harry is glad Ron doesn’t seem too miffed when Harry dashes off – he’s much too concerned in his heaped plate of various meat to care. Knowing he hasn’t much time until the start of class, and not wanting to waste the opportunity now that he’s finally thought of it, Harry races upstairs to the Gryffindor tower. By the time he reaches The Fat Lady, he’s puffing a little bit more than he’d like. Taking a year off Quidditch is obviously affecting him.

Straight up to his dormitory, Harry tears through his trunk for the map, not concerned about the mess he is making as he goes. At last his hands grip an old piece of thick parchment. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

Infinite lines and dots begin to fill the page but Harry only has eyes for one name. He tries to scan the page for Draco Malfoy but the map is so large, the names so many, that it’s not as simple as he hopes. It really is like finding a needle in a haystack. He continues to search regardless, convinced the name will appear to him. When a bell chime signals the end of lunch and he still hasn’t found the name, Harry gives up.

“Mischief Managed,” he whispers bitterly, because it hasn’t been managed at all. He slips the parchment into his pocket, determined to follow Malfoy’s name straight after class. At least if he has a starting point, it will be easy to find the name, and easy to find out exactly where Malfoy goes to when he’s not in class.

An afternoon potions double is certainly not how Harry would choose to spend his afternoon if he had a choice. His confidence in brewing potions has diminished almost entirely since the incident with Malfoy. He can barely add a prescribed benign ingredient to his cauldron without his hand shaking. The only positive to it is that he has plenty of time to monitor Malfoy. Although it’s quite difficult to concentrate both on not accidentally creating a potion that could hurt someone and looking for every movement – every blink, every twitch – that Malfoy makes.

When Malfoy places his knife back down after carefully crushing some ginkgo seeds, Harry finally spares another glance at his own cauldron. To his horror, it is releasing a strange purple steam and is definitely not the light cream colour described in their textbooks. He looks over to Ron beside him desperately but Ron just looks at his cauldron perplexed and shrugs. Harry starts to panic. He wouldn’t usually. Potions go wrong all the time, his included, and he would usually shrug it off just like Ron, but this time something doesn’t feel right. His stomach clenches, his throat constricts and his hands are shaking of their own volition.  The room starts to blur and he’s worried he might faint, until a firm hand on his shoulder steadies him and a calm whisper brings him back, “Breathe, Harry, breathe slowly.”

The room comes into focus just in time for Harry to follow the ripples of a small splash inside his cauldron. The steam fades away immediately, the potion lightening to a pale yellow colour. It’s not quite the light cream it should be but it’s great deal closer than purple. He looks to his side to see Malfoy’s concerned face right beside him. “You forgot the Hellebore, that’s all,” he says gently. The hand leaves his arm and Malfoy walks away before he can respond.

“You alright, mate?” Ron asks.

Harry blinks and _breathes_. “Fine.” He can’t make sense of what has just happened. Not his own reaction and certainly not Malfoy’s reaction. With his potion playing up, Harry just panicked. He can’t explain it more than that. Brewing potions used to calm him but now, he can barely wait for class to finish, so he never has to look at this one again.

And then there’s Malfoy. Harry looks over to him, he has already returned to his own potion and is stirring it intently. Why was he so quick to help Harry? It’s not like Malfoy at all. Then again, nothing Malfoy does these days is like Malfoy.

He must find out what’s going on.

As soon as class ends, Harry is pulling the Marauder’s Map from his pocket, determined to find out where Malfoy disappears to. He gestures for Ron to follow him to a small alcove behind a statue so they can spy undisturbed. “ I solemnly swear I am up to no good.”

“What are you doing?”

“Quick, help me find Malfoy. He can’t have gotten far.”

“There he is right – hang on. What does that mean?”

Harry follows Ron’s pointed finger to find Malfoy’s dot accompanied by the description:

_Draco Malfoy (?)_

A question mark? Is the map not sure? The map has never not been sure before. Even when someone is under the effects of polyjuice potion, the map still knows their real name. How can it not know whether this is Draco Malfoy or not?

Harry stares at the question mark, utterly perplexed. Never in his five years of using the Marauder’s Map has he ever seen a question mark next to anyone’s name.

He doesn’t let his eyes stray from Malfoy’s dot, watching it weave in and out of other students, clearly not heading for the Slytherin dormitories, or even the Hospital Wing, but somewhere else entirely.

“Harry,” Ron says nudging him, “ _What does the question mark mean?_ ”

Harry shrugs, not looking up – he can’t let Malfoy’s dot evade him now. “I don’t know.” Finally, Malfoy’s dot stops moving. He looks to be in a small room off the fourth floor. “Gotcha.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for Hermione?”

 _Wait?_ “We don’t even know how long he’s going to stay put. This could be our only chance.” Harry steps out from the alcove, eager to catch up to Malfoy. Ron steps in front of him.

“He could be dangerous.” Ron whispers as students pass them by.

“We don’t know that.”

“You said Slughorn – “

“Didn’t you see Malfoy in class? He _helped_ me. Whatever has happened to him, you said it yourself, it’s made him _nicer._ If anything, he’s less dangerous.”

“It’s still Malfoy.”

“Yes, Malfoy, the Death Eater who couldn’t even kill anyone. I’m terrified,” Harry says sarcastically.

“I don’t think we – “

“Fine,” Harry interrupts, stepping around Ron. “You go find Hermione and I’ll head after Malfoy.”

“But…“ Ron begins at Harry’s back and then almost immediately falters.  

Harry does feel a little guilty as he walks away. He knows he has behaved shortly with Ron but how can he pass up this opportunity for answers? Madam Pomfrey and Professor Slughorn won’t tell him anything and Hermione still hasn’t found anything in her books. He needs to go straight to the source.

He keeps the Marauder’s map open in his hands, glancing down every few steps anxiously just to confirm that little dot remains put. The closer he gets, the more excited he becomes. He’s going to find out where Malfoy goes every night. He might even get an understanding of Malfoy’s strange behaviour. Although he probably shouldn’t get ahead of himself. Still, the dot remains.

When he reaches the spot – a hidden door quite out of the way on the fourth floor – there’s a moment when he pauses. Despite his excitement, he’s not so sure if he’s ready to know what’s really going on with Malfoy, especially since, whatever it is, it’s his fault.

“Potter,” drawls a voice behind Harry.

Harry turns around slowly to come face to face with Blaise Zabini. A very angry, very tall, Blaise Zabini.

“What have you done to Draco?”


	4. The Vulnerable Side

Harry considers Zabini. Although Harry doesn’t fancy facing him in a physical battle, he’s sure he can best him in a duel…if only he can get to his wand first. Zabini hasn’t yet pulled out his wand, which is a relief, but he is standing very close. It will be very easy for him to throw a punch as soon as Harry makes any sudden movements. Harry remains still.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about?” Harry says, answering Zabini’s question. Maybe if he just keeps him talking, he can somehow distract him enough to escape. Harry’s hand slowly inches behind him to grasp the doorknob at his back.

“I don’t believe you. He’s changed since you spilt that potion on him.”

Harry wiggles the doorknob slightly, just to see if it will give. It doesn’t. It’s locked. Looks like Harry’s not backing out that way then. If only he can get his wand out without drawing Zabini’s suspicion.

“Has his eyesight improved?” Harry asks.

“What?” Zabini asks. Harry quickly slides a hand into the pocket of his robe. In his confusion, Zabini doesn’t seem to notice.

“It was meant to be a potion to improve my eyesight, before you and Malfoy knocked it over.”

Zabini’s hand snaps up to rest against Harry’s chest, pushing him against the door behind him. Harry’s hand falls from his pocket and with it the hope of retrieving his wand. Perhaps he shouldn’t have spoken so brashly. “Don’t try and turn this around, Potter. You’re the one who turned him into this…this…”

“Into what?” Harry asks, curious. He didn’t think he would be getting more information out of Blaise Zabini than the actual teachers attending to Malfoy but he isn’t about to complain.

“…this _Hufflepuff_!” Zabini says as if it is a dirty word.

“I turned Malfoy into a _Hufflepuff_?” Harry repeats drily. So much for information.

Zabini nods furiously. “Yes, and you’re going to turn him back.”

Harry closes his eyes. Zabini doesn’t know how much Harry wants to. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” urges Zabini, his hand clenching around Harry’s shirt now.

And then Harry is falling backwards out of Zabini’s grasp, the door behind him opening inwards. He feels hands at his back reaching out to catch him as he falls but all too soon Zabini has regained his grip and his pulling Harry towards him. Harry is twisted around and pulled into a headlock.

At the doorway stands Malfoy. “Let go of him, Blaise.”

“Why?” Zabini asks, his grip tightening around Harry’s neck.

Harry watches as Malfoy’s eyes dart between him and Zabini. He holds himself calmly but Harry suspects he is more nervous than he is letting on. “He can’t help me and I don’t want you to hurt him.”

“You don’t want me to –“ Zabini pauses. “Who _are_ you?”

Malfoy stares back at Zabini for a moment, his mouth opening and closing, like he is on the verge of revealing something. He looks back down to Harry and his jaw tightens. “Let him go, now.”

“That potion’s messed with your mind, Draco. This is Harry Potter. You hate him.”

“I don’t hate him,” Malfoy says quietly, staring at Harry. _What?_ Malfoy and Harry are supposed to hate each other. They’re arch-enemies for Merlin’s sake. If they don’t hate each other, then what do they have?

“That’s the potion talking, if – “

“I’ve never hated Harry Potter,” Malfoy says, looking back up at Zabini. _Never?_ That must be the potion as well. “I’m asking you, please let him go.”

“Or what?” Zabini challenges.

Malfoy shrugs. “Nothing, Blaise. I’m only asking. I don’t want to hurt you either.”

“Don’t you want to get better? There’s something wrong with you, I can tell.”

“Yes, I know,” Malfoy says calmly, or at least with a pretense of calmness. “It’s under control. Harry isn’t part of this.”

“But he’s the one who did this to you. Don’t you want revenge?”

“Of course not, Blaise.”

Zabini’s grip falls away, and Harry collapses onto the floor, his head a little dizzy from being held so tightly. He readjusts his glasses and slowly gets up, trying to put some distance between himself and Zabini. He ends up next to Malfoy.

Malfoy smiles at Zabini. “Thank you.”

Zabini doesn’t return it. He shakes his head. “I don’t know who you are right now.”

“Neither do I,” Malfoy replies, his smile gone. “Blaise, I think it’s best if you leave.”

“If I -? What the hell?” Zabini scowls at Harry, looking like he might grab him again – Harry shuffles a further half a step backwards – before turning back to Malfoy. “You know what? I don’t care what’s wrong with you. If you’d rather hang out with Harry Potter and the whole Gryffindor gang, fine. But don’t expect me to join you. It’s _over_.”

As Zabini walks away, Harry tries to subtly sneak a peek at Malfoy’s reaction beside him. His face is blank, unreadable. Malfoy turns around and walks back through the doorway, leaving the door open. Harry takes this as an invitation to follow Malfoy in.

Harry is thankful for the opportunity to look around and finally see where Malfoy has been disappearing to. He’s disappointed. The room is nothing other than a small private dormitory with a tiny bed taking up most of the floor space. Malfoy sits on the side of the bed, staring at the floor. Harry stands awkwardly in front of him, as there is very little wiggle space to work with.

“Malfoy, are you okay?” Harry asks, because he has to say something. When no answer is forthcoming, Harry tries the next best comment for a recent dumpee: “He’s a jerk.”

That at least gets Malfoy’s attention. “He’s not always like that,” he says quietly.

“What?” Harry asks, not really believing it. Zabini seemed to be acting very much like Zabini.

“He has a soft side too,” Malfoy says, looking up now, his eyes innocent enough to almost convince Harry. _Almost._

“Sure,” Harry says non-committedly.

Malfoy stares at him a moment longer before dropping his gaze. “You followed me here.”

“Yes,” Harry admits. When he set out to follow Malfoy, he hadn’t really given much thought to anything other than his determination to find him. Now actually facing Malfoy in his non-confrontational state, he does feel a little guilty.

“I asked you to trust me,” Malfoy says which really should be an accusation, and considering Harry’s behaviour, it would be justified, but there’s no malice to Malfoy’s tone.

Harry gives up on craning his neck to look down at Malfoy and also takes a seat on the bed. It’s hard and lumpy, reminding Harry of his bed under the stairs at Privet Drive. In fact this whole room is only marginally larger. He has no idea how a usually pompous snob like Malfoy can bear it.

Malfoy jerks his head up to Harry as he sits. Harry meets his eye. “I need to know what’s going on.”

Malfoy’s lips twitch. “It’s not a mystery that needs solving.”

“Every mystery needs solving,” Harry challenges.

“But not by you," Malfoy says raising one eyebrow perfectly.

Harry watches Malfoy’s eyebrow descend back down his pale face. Their faces are really very close.  Harry can see every small detail, like the way Malfoy tightens and relaxes his jaw repeatedly and the way his eyes dart frantically over Harry’s face as if he is looking him over in just the same way. Harry looks away, suddenly uncomfortable. “Why are you here?” He asks to his lap.

Malfoy doesn’t answer. Harry wonders whether Malfoy is still watching him but he’s too scared to check.

“Do you sleep here?” Harry tries again.

Malfoy laughs, the sound so loud in Harry’s ear he knows Malfoy must still be facing him. He keeps his head down. “You’re relentless.”

“I’m not leaving without answers,” Harry asserts, although his delivery is a little marred by the fact he can’t even say it to Malfoy’s face. Merlin. What is wrong with him? Why can’t he just lift his head?

“Fancy a game of chess?”

“What?” Harry’s head whips up so fast, he doesn’t even have time to panic over the thought of seeing Malfoy’s face so closely again. Luckily Malfoy has already turned away.

“I’ve been starved for company over the past week. As long as you’re here, you might as well entertain me.” Harry freezes. “…Only if you want to play of course.” Malfoy adds. _Oh._ Chess. _Chess._

Harry tries not to think about where his mind automatically took him when Malfoy suggested entertainment. Instead, he considers Malfoy’s proposition. Malfoy’s proposition of an innocent game of _chess_ , to be clear. “Will you tell me what’s going on in return?”

Harry watches his profile as a smile reaches around Malfoy’s face. “No.”

It appears that all Harry is going to learn from this expedition is that Malfoy is living in a tiny little dormitory alone. It’s not exactly going to help him work out what’s going on with Malfoy, but at least he knows where to find him now. Perhaps he can break down Malfoy’s careful façade slowly, wait for something to slip accidentally. “I’m rubbish at Chess. What about Exploding Snap?”

Malfoy turns to Harry with a laugh. “You’re so uncivilized,” he says. It should be an insult but it’s not, not when Malfoy’s face crinkles at the edges like that, not at all.

For their first game of exploding snap, sitting cross legged on Malfoy’s bed, Harry wins. “Looks like you need to lift your game, Malfoy,” he teases.

Harry waits for the challenge. Waits for Malfoy to tell him he was going easy on him, waits for the declaration of another game in which Harry will surely lose.

However, Malfoy only nods and re-deals the cards. “You’re much better at this than me,” he says, with no hint of resentment, no hint of jealousy.

Even with Malfoy’s atypical behaviour recently, it’s completely unexpected and Harry can’t help but feel disappointed.

Midway through their fifth game of exploding snap, Harry recalls something Malfoy said to Zabini earlier. He pulls his eyes away from the game pile to gauge Malfoy’s reaction. “So, you don’t hate me?”

Up goes Malfoy’s perfect eyebrow, though his eyes remain lowered. “I think I already made that clear.”

 _Clear._ Malfoy, someone who has hated Harry since they were both eleven, announces once that he doesn’t hate Harry, and that’s supposed to be _clear?_ It’s anything but. “Even before you…before the potion?”

“Yes, Harry. _Before_.”

Merlin, Harry thinks. He looks so sad and small and not like Malfoy at all. But his words don’t make sense. If Malfoy has never hated him, then why has he antagonized Harry for years? “Then why do you act like you do?”

“Immaturity and confusion,” Malfoy whispers to his cards.

“Excuse me?” Harry asks, now feeling confused himself.

Malfoy sighs, something sad and breathy, and looks up at Harry. “I’ve never been able to hate you, although certainly not for lack of trying.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

After countless games of exploding snap, some filled with serious chatter, some with gentle teasing, some filled with awkward silence, some comfortable, Harry finally leaves Malfoy’s dormitory to head to dinner. Of course, Malfoy doesn’t wish to join him, and Harry doesn’t push it. Harry is conscious of an odd feeling growing inside of him. He’s had fun with Malfoy. He’s relaxed. He hasn’t felt like this in a long time.

“Where _were_ you?” Hermione’s panicked voice cuts through his temporary peace. He turns to find her and Ron hurrying towards him, wands raised.

“We’ve been wandering the fourth floor all afternoon trying to find you mate,” Ron explains, looking sheepish as he lowers his wand.

“Because _somebody_ couldn’t remember where you had gone,” Hermione says through pursed lips.

“I only got a quick look at the map, and all the corridors look the same, I tried to – “

“Shall we go down to dinner together?” Harry interrupts, ever the mediator between his friends, and also hoping that they might forget why they -

“What happened with Malfoy?” Hermione asks. Of course not.

“Nothing. We talked.” _We played exploding snap and I won every time._

 _“And?”_ Hermione prompts.

“And?”

“Have you found out what’s wrong with him?” She asks, looking thoroughly exasperated and impatient with him. Which he supposes he deserves, especially consider his answer.

“Oh. No. Still not sure.”

“ _Harry_.”

Harry shrugs. What was he supposed to do? Illegally force feed Malfoy veritaserum? “He’s not going to tell me.”

“Then we need to find someone who will.”

“Slughorn and Pomfrey – “

“Won’t talk to _you_. Doesn’t mean they won’t help a student with her extra credit assignment on the properties of asphodel root.” Hermione’s obviously still mad at him but she smiles regardless, clearly pleased at her own plan.

“Do you – “ Harry starts to ask, wondering exactly what Hermione thinks she knows.

“I’ve been doing some reading. Asphodel root works differently depending on how it’s used and is very susceptible to the magical properties of other ingredients. If we can just work out how it reacted to the other ingredients, we can hypothesize what happened to Malfoy.”

Harry frowns. If Hermione starts asking about asphodel root and other ingredients Pomfrey and Slughorn know he added to the potion, it’s going to be incredibly obvious. “Pomfrey isn’t going to fall for that.”

“Yes, but Slughorn might.”


	5. The Wandering Side

Harry isn’t so certain Hermione’s plan is going to work. Slughorn’s not completely stupid. Besides, he’s the only Potions teacher. What extra credit assignment could Hermione be doing on potions ingredients that he isn’t aware of?

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Hermione says aloud, but clearly directed at herself, when Harry points this out. She looks up at Harry. “No matter. Perhaps I’m preparing a thesis for an apprenticeship position I’m vying for.”  

“Who’s the apprenticeship with?” asks Slughorn immediately when Hermione corners him after class the next day. Harry and Ron have quickly donned the invisibility cloak and returned to the room to eavesdrop. They figure Harry’s presence would be just a tad too obvious.

“Ah. Yes. It’s…with…” Hermione begins slowly, all the while Harry is cursing internally that they hadn’t worked out Hermione’s story in greater detail beforehand. Of course Slughorn would ask who with. “…an experimental Potions…group…in the Netherlands.” _What?_ Harry thought Hermione was a better liar than this.

“The Netherlands,” Professor Slughorn repeats tonelessly, obviously sceptical.

“Yes,” Hermione continues, despite clearly being aboard a sinking ship. “Their work involves integrating muggle medicine with magical healing to create cures and treatments for a variety of diseases, both muggle and magical in nature. They’re always looking for muggleborns to bring expertise from both sides.”

Harry crosses his fingers. Hermione may have just plugged the holes in her ship.

“And they’re making you write a thesis? You’d think being instrumental in the defeat of He Who Must Not Be Named would be enough to get you in anywhere,” Slughorn chuckles. _Success._ “How can I help then, m’girl?”

Harry watches Hermione exhale in relief. “My thesis is on Asphodel Root.”                                                     

“Ahhhh, yes very interesting ingredient, asphodel root. Excellent choice Miss Granger.” Slughorn beams down at her.

Hermione smiles. So does Harry. She’s got him! “I’ve been doing a lot of research and the one thing I can’t understand is what determines how its properties are altered. I know that if you mix it with pixie flowers, it causes delirium, and if you mix it with dragon egg shell, it causes combustion, but I can’t understand why.”

“Yes I can see why it wouldn’t make sense to you. It requires an abstract reasoning rather than literal interpretation of the properties.”

“I can apply abstract reasoning. It’s just that – “

“You mistake me, Miss Granger. I don’t mean it as an insult. You have a very intelligent, inquiring logical mind. Asphodel root is rather difficult to grasp for most academics due to its rejection of sound logic. It’s impossible to determine how the root will react with other ingredients without experiment. We can guess, but a mind like yours repels guessing (rightly so in most instances, it’s a useless task), sensibly preferring formulas to reach a conclusion.” He shrugs, “And there is no formula for asphodel root.”

“There must be some – “

“Once you know the reaction, you can work backwards and create a hypothesis. But not the other way around.”

Harry can see Hermione becoming agitated. _Calm down,_ he urges her silently. _We’re almost there._ “But that’s not how hypothesises work!” She insists.

Slughorn chuckles. “Frustrating, isn’t it? I’ll give you an example, Miss Granger. Say an ingredient is best known for providing strength. When mixed with Asphodel root and given to a person to drink, what do you think is more likely? That the person will instantly grow muscles? That they will be able to lift heavy objects with no physical change to themselves? That they will be granted a stronger strength of spirit, increasing their bravery? That they will be drawn to  a soulmate that will give them strength?”

“I’m…I’m not sure. Although that last option seems ridiculously far-fetched.”

“The answer is that they are all as likely as each other. We have no idea how asphodel root will choose to react with the ingredient. There is no pattern to it. Like I said, no formula.”

Harry wants to curse but he has no choice but to remain silent. How could he be so stupid as to add asphodel root without knowing what it would do? He had read that it enhanced the properties of other ingredients and didn’t bother to look into it further. If he had, then Malfoy wouldn’t be in this situation.

“But surely if someone studied how – “ Hermione begins.

“It has been studied and experimented with by many Potions masters, including myself, and I can assure you there is no singular pattern.”

“Okay. So how would you guess it would react with doxy eggs?” Hermione asks, a little too casually. Harry silently prays Slughorn won’t put the pieces together…

“Hmm. Since doxy eggs are utilised for their sense of clarity and often used in potions to improve –“ Slughorn pauses and his eyes dart around the room quickly before returning to Hermione. “Why do you wish to know about this ingredient, Miss Granger?”

“Er. No reason. Just something that came to my head,” Hermione lies, very obviously. Even if Harry didn’t know Hermione was lying, he would have picked it. There’s no way Slughorn is going to believe it.

“Who is the Potions master who heads up this Netherland group?” Slughorn asks sharply.

“Master…Master Rollins?” Hermione hedges.

“I’m surprised that I’ve never heard of him. I’m acquainted with most of the Potions Masters across Europe.”

“Yes, well, he likes to keep to himself I hear so…”

“I wish you all the best with your thesis, Miss Granger. Unfortunately I am quite busy at the moment preparing so we will need to discuss this another time,” Slughorn says, a smile on his face not quite disguising his toneless voice.

“Right. Yes. Thank you, Professor,” Hermione says quickly and makes a hasty exit from the classroom. Harry and Ron follow silently.

They reach an alcove around the corner from Slughorn’s office and Harry, figuring its safe to do so, pulls the invisibility cloak off himself and Ron. Hermione doesn’t even blink as they come into sight.

“He knows,” Ron says immediately.

“Yes, obviously Ronald,” Hermione says impatiently, looking rather hyped up. “Regardless, he’s told us what we need to know.”

Harry would love to be as confident as Hermione but they haven’t exactly learned anything. “We still don’t even know what ingredient – “

“He was never going to tell us that,” Hermione interrupts. “Harry, we need to go over every ingredient from your potion.”

“You want to _guess_ what happened?” Harry asks. Was he listening to same explanation of asphodel root Hermione was?

“It won’t be guessing.”

“But Slughorn said – “

Hermione cuts him off with an impatient sigh. “In this instance, we’ve already experimented and Malfoy is the test subject. He’s acting weird – we just need to match his behaviour to an interpretation of an ingredient’s effects with asphodel root.”

Harry looks at Ron who shrugs with eyes that clearly say _I have no idea what she is saying_. “So we’re guessing,” He says, turning back to Hermione

Hermione narrows her eyes, clearly unhappy to be reduced to an archaic method of study. “If anything, we will be making _educated_ guesses. Which is not the same thing at all.”

Harry and Ron exchange looks again. It seems like very much the same thing, actually.

“Come on,” Hermione continues. “We need to get to the library.”

Harry starts to follow her, scrunching up his invisibility cloak to fit in his school bag as he does. He has an idea. A rather clever idea. And he should really have thought of it earlier. He pauses. “You guys go ahead, I want to check something.”

Hermione turns back to him. “ _Harry._ Don’t forget this is your potion we’re looking into,” She says, hands on her hips.

“I know, just give me half an hour, please and then I’ll come and meet you,” Harry promises.

“I guess we’ll do all the work then…” Ron says glumly.

Hermione scowls at Ron, her attentions thankfully drawn from Harry. “Come off it Ronald, I’m the one who will be doing all the work regardless.”

Ron shrugs in defeated agreement and the two head off towards the library.

Once he’s alone in the corridor, and out of his sight of his friends, Harry pulls the invisibility cloak back over his head. He has realised if he wants to up his Malfoy stalking game, he really needs to make use of the tools available to him. Not that he’s stalking Malfoy. Well, perhaps he is. But he’s not _stalking_ stalking. Obviously. Not like sixth year. No, this is not like sixth year at all.

Malfoy, or at least, Draco Malfoy (?), as the map would say, is not in his dorm. Which means Harry has a limited window in which to sneak into Malfoy’s room. And of course, he isn’t going to sit around and plan it, he’s simply going to act brashly and face any consequences head on. Because he’s Harry Potter.

The journey up to Malfoy’s private dorm is tedious in the cloak – he has to be careful to avoid all passing students which isn’t easy when they can’t see you and move unpredictably. It’s a necessary evil though. He doesn’t want to be spotted on his way up and interrupted, least of all by Malfoy, who must be around somewhere. It’s surprising that his dorm is empty at all considering Malfoy usually hurries there after classes end for the day. So Harry will be quick. Or as quick as he can be dodging students through the halls of Hogwarts.

At last he reaches Malfoy’s dorm. The door is locked. Of course. It was never going to be that easy. Harry pulls out his wand and whispers an unenthusiastic “Alohomora”. It works _. Oh._ So it _is_ that easy. What’s the point of even locking doors in a wizarding school anyway?

Harry makes sure he’s alone before opening the door and stepping through. He can’t have any first years reporting a mysterious opening door and drawing attention to Malfoy’s location. Slughorn did say it was better the less people that knew. Although, Harry supposes a self-opening door would be one of the less alarming things to witness around Hogwarts.

Inside, the room is the same as Harry’s last visit. Small space, smaller bed. The walls are bare except for a tall fireplace squished in behind the bed. Even the exploding snap cards remain in the middle of the bed where Harry had left them last. Which can’t be right of course. Malfoy must have moved them when he slept and then returned them there. Which is also odd. Who else does Malfoy have to play exploding snap with? Harry thought he was the only one who knew about his place, apart from Ron and Hermione…and Blaise. But Blaise and Malfoy couldn’t be seeing each other again? Could they?

After a search around the room, Harry is disappointed. There are very little personal effects apart from Malfoy’s clothes, the cards and a chess set. It’s not particularly telling. Harry wasn’t expecting a giant poster board with what happened to Malfoy written out explicitly, but he was expecting _something._ Another small piece of the puzzle to fall in line.

Malfoy still hasn’t returned to the dorm and it’s almost dinner now. It’s suspicious. Determined to learn something tonight, Harry decides to wait for Malfoy’s return. If he’s able to observe Malfoy when he thinks he’s alone, Harry might witness something telling. For now, it’s just a waiting game. Malfoy will have to return eventually.

Harry takes a seat in the corner of room, and readjusts his cloak so that it covers him completely. He can’t have Malfoy walking in and finding one of his limbs dangling. He pulls out the Marauders map and scans the castle for Malfoy’s name. Harry has no idea where he would be, so it’s no easy task filtering through the hundreds of students and teachers, the endless passageways and secret rooms. No Malfoy. But he _has_ to be in the castle somewhere. Harry looks again. And again. His eyes begin to tire from the strain. He drops the map in frustration and leans his head back against the wall. He closes his eyes. _Where is he?_

Harry waits for hours. He knows Ron and Hermione will be worried but this is more important. He has to know. He has to know. He’s glad to have his friends help him, he’s so incredibly grateful, but they can’t understand how Harry feels. This is his fault. He did this to Malfoy. As much as he used to hate the git, he would never have wished to really hurt him. _Used to._ Ah, that’s the sting, isn’t it? He doesn’t hate Malfoy anymore. How could anyone hate this Malfoy? But is it really even Malfoy? Even the Marauder’s Map doesn’t know for sure. Fuck. What has Harry done?

 

* * *

 

The next thing Harry knows is he’s on the floor. A hard uncomfortable floor. There’s an ache in his neck and all his limps feel stiff. He’s…oh no. He wrenches open his eyes and jerks his head up. He’s still in Malfoy’s room and still no Malfoy but…but Malfoy’s bed has been slept in. Or at least, the exploding snap cards have been removed, and the covers have been thrown back. Goodness, has Harry been here all night

Harry begins to stand up but stumbles over his cloak. One of his legs has manoeuvred itself outside his clock - probably while he slept -  so it takes him a moment to get himself up. He casts a tempus charm. It’s morning. And he’s going to miss breakfast. Fuck. He checks his map to make sure nobody’s outside Malfoy’s room and then goes to slip out. Except something steals his attention. A note stuck to the inside of Malfoy’s door. Harry rubs the sleep out of his eyes and readjusts his glasses so he can read it properly.

_Don’t come back._


	6. The Lonely Side

Studying potions ingredients in the library is as boring and draining as it sounds. At least for Harry. Hermione seems to be enjoying herself. At least when she’s not getting frustrated. Her mood shifts from excitement to disappointment every time she reads through a new book.

“Is it so hard to describe an ingredient without referencing your personal experience with it? I swear all the Potions books we have in this library are written by Gilderoy Lockhart clones,” she says, pushing away _Day and Nightshade_ in disgust.

“I remember you quite liking Lockhart,” Ron reminds Hermione with a wink at Harry. Harry tries not to let his laughter escape but really, anything’s funny when you’ve been staring at textbooks for hours.

Hermione fixes them both with a deathly stare that is probably not dissimilar to the one a Basilisk uses to petrify its victims.  “That was before he tried to hurt you both,” she says seriously.

Harry and Ron stop laughing immediately and pointedly look back down at the books in front of them. Hermione pulls another book -   _A-Z of Potions Ingredients -_ towards her and starts flicking, her enthusiasm returned once more.

They visit the library every night after class. Harry would much rather be visiting Malfoy’s dorm every night. Which taken out of context, is a little disturbing. But he has to know if Malfoy actually sleeps there or not, and if not, where he goes at night. The unmade bed Harry witnessed when he woke up in Malfoy’s room last week _must_ have been staged. Harry is almost certain of it. Malfoy isn’t the messy type. If he left it unmade, it was only so Harry would see it. And why would he want Harry to see it unless he needed Harry to think he slept there? It’s the only explanation.

But Ron and Hermione aren’t so keen to let him out of their sight after his previous disappearance for an entire night. “I understand you want to find out what’s going on with Malfoy but stalking him again is unhealthy,” Hermione had told him. Ron hadn’t said anything but Harry could tell he silently agreed. But he’s not stalking Malfoy. He’s just searching for the truth, and if the best way is to tail Malfoy…then so be it.

Unable to restrain himself anymore, one afternoon on their way to the library, Harry tries to excuse himself.

“I’ll meet you up there. I just have to go to the bath– “

“Harry,” Hermione interrupts knowingly.

“Fine. I’m going to follow Malfoy. But you can’t stop me.”

“Mate,” Ron intervenes, “What are you going to do? Follow him around the castle all night? Can’t you just watch him on the Marauder’s Map? You can do that from the library.”

That’s the problem. He had been doing that from the library, the Marauder’s Map hidden between Potions books so his friends couldn’t see. “I can’t always find him on the map,” Harry admits. “He always heads back to his dorm after class, but after that, I can’t find him. He just disappears.”

“Are you sure he’s in the castle?” Hermione asks. “Couldn’t he be using a secret passageway?”

Harry shakes his head. “There’s a couple near his dorm but I’ve been watching them. He never  - “ Harry stops, as a thought comes to him. _Of course._ “There’s a fireplace in his dorm.”

Hermione’s eyes widen. “Why didn’t you say so before?”

Harry shrugs. “I didn’t think it was important.”

“Wait,” Ron interrupts, “You think he’s floo-ing in and out of the castle?”

“Why not?” Hermione says. “It would explain why Harry can’t find him on the map. And the teachers could easily take the wards off a single fireplace.” She turns to Harry. “You’ll have to follow him in your cloak so you can hear where he floos to.”

Harry almost laughs in relief. “Oh, so it’s okay for me to follow him now?”

She shrugs. “Now there’s an actual reason to.”

Harry rolls his eyes. There was always a reason! But he’s not going to argue now that he’s been given the opportunity. He hurriedly races to the fourth-floor, pulling on his cloak as he does. Class only just let up, so he should be able to get there at the same time as Malfoy if he moves fast.

 _Yes_. He finds Malfoy strolling along the fourth-floor corridor, his eyes darting around, clearly making sure he isn’t followed. Well, he obviously hasn’t counted on Harry’s invisibility cloak. When they reach the room, Harry quickly follows in behind Malfoy before the door is shut.

Malfoy walks towards the fireplace and – “I thought I told you not to come back.”

 _What?_ Malfoy can’t know he’s here. He must be bluffing. Harry doesn’t reply and tries to remain as still as possible. He can’t do much about his breathing though.

Malfoy turns and stares past Harry to the door. “Although I was hoping you would.”

Malfoy starts to walk to Harry and Harry knows he’s screwed. The room is so small, there’s nowhere for him to hide. He gives up. “Why did you tell me not to, then?”

Malfoy stops moving and smiles. “What I want and what I should want are two very different things.” He turns away and stares back at the fireplace. “How can it be that I’m still so selfish even without…”

“Even without…?” Harry questions. It seems an odd thing to say and Harry wonders what Malfoy almost let slip.

Of course, Malfoy doesn’t answer. He turns back around to Harry, searching the air, as if trying to find any trace of the cloak. “Are you going to take that thing off or will I just keep talking to myself?”

Harry relents and pulls of his cloak. He watches Malfoy’s eyes readjust to focus on where he stands. “Why did you want me to come back?” He asks.

Malfoy stares at him a little longer before answering. “I’ve always been lonely, but this is worse.” He sits down on the bed and looks up at Harry with hopeful eyes. “Will you reconsider chess?”

“Chess is boring.” When Ron introduced him to Wizard’s chess, Harry loved it. But the novelty of the pieces destroying each other wears off eventually and then you’re just left with chess. Which is boring.

Unless you’re Draco Malfoy it would seem. “It stimulates me,” he says.

“Who am I to deny you…” Harry starts conversationally before he realises what he’s saying, but it’s too late. “…stimulation?” He finishes weakly.

“Indeed. If – “

“Not another word, Malfoy,” Harry interrupts.

“So, chess?” Malfoy asks, his eyes far too excited for something so mundane.

Harry knows he’s not here to play chess. He’s here to solve the mystery of Malfoy’s behaviour, of his late-night trips, but it’s not as if Malfoy is going to floo off in front of him now. So, what can it hurt if he plays a harmless game of chess? If anything, he needs to be building Malfoy’s trust in order for Malfoy to reveal more to him. Yes, that’s it.

So when Harry agrees to the game and sets himself across from Malfoy on the bed, that’s all he’s thinking of, building trust. He’s not here to notice how close Malfoy’s leg comes to brushing his thigh when Malfoy stretches it out and off the bed. He’s not here to notice the way Malfoy smiles approvingly every time Harry makes a less than terrible chess move. He’s not here to enjoy the sound of Malfoy’s laugh at every joke Harry makes, even those that aren’t nearly as funny as Malfoy makes them out to be.

All in all, it’s a successful night…of building trust of course. Even if Malfoy still won’t tell Harry what’s going on when he asks again. Obviously, trust takes time, so obviously Harry will have to keep spending more time with Malfoy. It’s the only solution.

“You’re not going to stop, are you?” Malfoy asks as he easily takes down Harry’s King for a second time, although he phrases it so it’s not really a question at all.

Harry watches his remaining pieces shrug in defeat and march themselves off the playing board, a couple of them shooting dark looks in Harry’s direction. How can he stop when this is all his fault? Sure, Malfoy seems okay, but there’s clearly something not quite right. The way Malfoy talks, that sad little smile that appears on his face every so often, hint at something much darker going on. And if Harry doesn’t find out what, he’s simply going to lose his mind.

“Perhaps you could just tell me what’s going on and save us both the trouble.” Harry suggests rather than unnecessarily answering Malfoy’s question. He doesn’t suppose Malfoy will take him up on it but he’s desperate enough to try.

Malfoy’s eyes dart to the fireplace beside them as he replies. “I don’t want you to see what I’m really like.”

Which is really worse than saying anything at all. Why is everyone so fond of saying these cryptic things? It only frustrates Harry further. “But what does that _mean?”_

“It _means_ you need to be patient and wait for this to be solved without you. It means you can keep visiting me if you stop asking questions.” Malfoy says far too gently. “And stop wearing that cloak,” he adds as an afterthought.

“You want me to keep visiting?” Harry asks, already ignoring the no questions rule. As curious as he finds the mystery of Malfoy’s condition, the thought that Malfoy might enjoy spending time with Harry is even more so.

Although Malfoy doesn’t seem as pleased as Harry about this revelation. His face creases in all the wrong places. “As long as you understand that this is only temporary,” he says seriously.

“Until you’re cured?”

“Yes.”

And because Harry really can’t help himself: “Why does that change things between you and me?”

“And the questions keep coming.”

“I can’t – sorry.” Harry does feel a little guilty. He wants to respect Malfoy’s wishes of course but the pull of the mystery is great, tugging at him insistently.

Malfoy stands up abruptly, the chess board falling back to the bed from where it levitated between them. “You should go now. They’ll be serving dinner.”

“Why – “

“Go,” Malfoy interrupts opening the door. “I’ll wait for you tomorrow afternoon, if you like. “

“Wait?” Harry queries automatically, as he follows Malfoy to the door.

Malfoy shakes his head, but Harry can see the hint of a smile on his lips. “ _Go,_ ” He urges, all but pushing Harry out of the door.

Harry walks away, feeling Malfoy’s eyes still on him. A number of distracting thoughts run through his head but he focuses himself on one. Malfoy is about to floo away.  And Harry is going to miss where.

No. It’s too good an opportunity to miss. As soon as Harry turns a corner out of Malfoy’s line of sight, he pulls back on his invisibility cloak and casts a silencing charm on himself. He suspects his breathing gave him away last time. Then he is hurrying back to Malfoy’s room as quickly as his legs will carry him, trusting the silencing charm to cover his footsteps.

Of course, by the time he returns, Malfoy’s door is already closed, but that doesn’t matter. Harry only needs to hear where Malfoy is heading. He casts an amplifying charm on Malfoy’s room and leans his ear against the door eagerly, anxiously holding his breath despite his previous silencing charm.

Harry hears nothing but the cackling of the fire for some time and is afraid he may be too late. But then, the soft padding of shoes against the floor meets Harry’s ear, unnaturally loud, followed by the unmistakable shifting of floo powder. Harry pushes himself up against the door as tight as he can manage, he doesn’t want to miss this. But his actions are unnecessary. Malfoy’s voice comes out cold and clear through the amplifying charm:

“Malfoy Manor.”

Harry slumps against the door, a little disappointed. Malfoy’s going home every night? That’s it. That’s the big mystery? But there has to be more to it. Something at the Manor Harry doesn’t know about. But what?

Perhaps some more ‘trust building’ is in order.


	7. The Sweet Side

“And you’re sure he said Malfoy Manor?”

Harry blinks at Hermione. ‘’Yes, I am sure. What else could he be saying? Balfoy Banor?”

Ron attempts to stifle a laugh from where he sits beside her at the Gryffindor table but is unsuccessful. Hermione shoots him a dark look before turning back to Harry. “No need to sass me, Harry. I’m trying to help.”

Harry ducks his head. “Right, sorry.”

“And while you’ve been off stalking Malfoy – “

“You encouraged – “ Harry tries to remind her but is cut off.

“I’ve been studying the ingredients from your potion and I think I’m getting close.”

Harry leans forward in excitement. “Really?”

“There is no documented potion that combines both asphodel root and nightshade,” Hermione says impressively as if this is supposed to be a major breakthrough. Except it means absolutely nothing to Harry, and Ron as well it would seem from his clueless expression.

“What does that mean?” Harry asks not as patiently as he probably should.  

Hermione looks between Ron at her side and Harry across from her, in surprise, as if what she is saying isn’t the most obvious thing in the world. She gives a small shake of her head before explaining.  “Well, I’ve been looking into documented cases of all the other ingredients interacting with asphodel root in various other potions and all of the reactions are either benign or unrelated to Malfoy’s condition, so it has to be the nightshade. It’s the only one unaccounted for.”

Harry nods to himself. So, nightshade and asphodel root. That’s what did this to Malfoy. It’s something but - “We still don’t know what the reaction would be.”

“I only said I was close,” Hermione says, the twitch of her brow showing her disappointment. “But I do have some theories.”

“Yes?” Harry prompts. Merlin, he’ll listen to any theory. He just wants this all to start making sense.

“Felicia Falcon’s eyesight improving potion is actually a rather backwards potion. Instead of using your natural eyesight and improving on it, as any good potion should do, and as the name misleadingly suggests, it artificially creates a new vision for the subject.” Hermione pauses, her face screwed up in distaste, clearly waiting for Harry and Ron to share her disgust at this. Neither of them say anything because, truthfully, they’re only understanding half of what she’s saying. And Harry’s just waiting for her to get to the bit about Malfoy. Hermione continues. “All the ingredients of the potion are responsible for creating various parts of the vision and the nightshade is there to recreate binocular disparity.”

“Bino what?” Ron tries to repeat, his eyes darting to Harry, who responds with a shrug.

“When you’re actually using your two eyes to perceive vision, instead of letting a potion create it for you – which is so dangerous by the way, I can’t believe Felicia – “

“Point, Hermione?” Harry interrupts worried the Malfoy mystery is going to be delayed by an extended rant about Felicia Falcon, who seemed like an okay person from everything Harry has read. Although now, he’s certainly not going to be trying to make any of her potions again. That is, if he can ever bring himself to make any more potions at all.

“Sorry,” Hermione says although she doesn’t particularly look it. Her explanation has turned a little frantic in her excitement about what she has discovered. “Our eyes perceive slightly shifted lines of sight with overlap in the middle. In order to emulate this in an artificial vision so that it will seem natural, nightshade is used to separate what the subject sees into two overlapping but horizontally shifted visions.”

Harry tries to piece together Hermione’s words. Not for the first time he wishes they actually taught science in wizarding schools, then maybe some of this would mean something. “So, Malfoy has this binocular disparity now?” He asks, feeling like he might be somewhat following.

Hermione sighs. Okay, maybe not. “We _all_ have binocular disparity.” She says with a touch of pity. “Remember what Slughorn said? We can’t think so literally.”

Harry isn’t really sure what he’s thinking. All he knows is that he doesn’t fully understand. “You said you had theories about Malfoy?” He asks, hoping to lead the conversation back into something more attainable.

“I think the key part is the separation. What if Malfoy’s soul somehow got separated – “

“His _soul_?” Ron interjects, “You don’t really be – “

“No of course not, Ronald,” Hermione says, her voice rising. “But I can apply abstract reasoning and I’m – “

“You’re still upset that Slughorn said you couldn’t – “

“No, I’m not.” Hermione almost shouts and then clamps a hand over their mouth. Surrounding Gryffindors and even a few Hufflepuffs are starting to look over at them. She continues in a whisper. “Okay fine. But I can apply abstract reasoning. _Here_. Malfoy’s head has been separated from his body and he’s walking around headless but nobody knows because Madam Pomfrey put an anti-perception spell on it. There? Is that _abstract_ enough for you?”

Harry ignores this and tries to focus on Hermione’s earlier words. _The key part is the separation_. Has Malfoy lost something? A part of himself? But then on top of that: “There’s got to be a reason why he needs to sleep at Malfoy Manor.” Harry voices his thought aloud.

“Maybe that’s where his head is,” Ron whispers and then bursts out laughing.

 Harry can’t help but a smile a little but stops when he sees Hermione’s expression. “I need to go to Malfoy Manor.” He says, shifting the topic back to Malfoy. 

Hermione rolls her eyes but she doesn’t look surprised. “Yes, just go barging into Lucius Malfoy’s house. I’m sure that will end well.

“He’s in Azkaban so – “ Harry starts.

“And I’m sure Narcissa Malfoy will enjoy a visit from the person who put her husband away,” Hermione says.

“I didn’t – “

“That won’t matter if she catches you in her house. You have no idea where the fireplace comes out on the other side. You could appear in a dining room across from Narcissa having her dinner. It’s dangerous.”

“Living without a head sounds pretty dang – “

Hermione’s head whips around to Ron at a terrifying speed. “If you don’t shut up right now, Ronald, _you’re_ going to be in danger.”

Ignoring his best friends squabble, another thought comes to Harry. “Malfoy said something last night. I think it was _How can it be that I’m still so selfish even without…_. _”_

“So, he still speaks like a twat then?”

Hermione and Harry both ignore Ron. “Even without what?” Hermione asks.

“I don’t know. He trailed off. But it was as if he’d lost something. Maybe he was referencing whatever has separated from him?” Harry suggests. Merlin, they’re grasping now. Harry had been so excited about finally solving this mystery but now he only has more questions.

“So, he knows,” Hermione says with a nod, and then her face gets that apologetic, apprehensive look on it and Harry already knows he not going to like the next thing out of her mouth. “Harry, did you ever think that maybe it’s best if we just leave him be? Slughorn and Pomfrey are already working on a cure and – “

“It’s _my_ fault, Hermione,” Harry interrupts, struggling to keep his voice down. “ _My_ responsibility. I can’t just sit in my dorm like a good little boy and forget that I did this to him. And he’s sad, Hermione. So sad. I can see it. I want to…no, I _have_ to help.”

Students are starting to stare openly now. Ron makes eye contact with as many of them as possible until they get uncomfortable and look away. It’s a trick he’s been doing for Harry ever since they became friends.

Hermione leans forward and talks quietly. “Then maybe you can just be there for him. You don’t have to solve anything. You can just be there.”

“What the fuck?” Ron says turning back to the conversation. “This is still _Malfoy_ , Hermione. What do you want Harry to do? Befriend his arch enemy?”

Hermione makes eye contact with Harry and he tries not to let anything show in his face. “I think he already has.”

 

* * *

 

Harry’s not sure when he started liking Draco Malfoy. But he does. As a friend and as…well maybe as something more. But it’s not right. Because Malfoy’s not right. And it’s the wrong time. Everything’s wrong. Merlin, how he wishes Malfoy could just be cured already. Except there’s a small part of him, a part that he guiltily tries to suppress, that is glad it is taking so long. Because Malfoy seems to enjoy his company. And when he’s cured, Harry’s not so certain he will.

Hermione had told Harry he should be there for Malfoy and he is. Visiting him every afternoon after class. But he feels uncomfortable about it, like he’s selfishly stealing Malfoy’s time. Malfoy tells him he wants him there but Merlin, is it really Malfoy? Does he really know what he wants?

Harry finds himself second guessing everything Malfoy says, and the more time they spend together, the more doubtful he becomes. Because Malfoy is treating Harry as if likes him too. As a friend and as…well maybe something more.

There’s a point when Harry thinks he must be imagining it. That the smallness of Malfoy’s dorm, the smallness of his bed, has made things seem more intimate than they really are and that Harry is just reading into it. Reading into the smiles Malfoy sends him when Harry’s thoughtfully debating his next move in chess (because Merlin, Malfoy is difficult to beat). Reading into the glances Malfoy sends him almost constantly even in class when he probably thinks Harry is not looking (but of course, Harry is always very conscious of Malfoy’s presence at any time). Reading into the compliments Malfoy gives him with increasing frequency and reverence:

“You’re adapting to my chess strategies incredibly fast. “

“I meant to say earlier, you were brilliant in Defence class today.”

“Those glasses are rather adorable, you know.”

“I miss playing Quidditch with you. I’ve never seen anyone fly that well.”

“I’ve always admired your passion.”

And then one day, when Harry really should be expecting it, but his own denial has clouded his mind, Malfoy, or Draco as he insists Harry calls him now, turns everything up a notch.

They are entering Draco’s dorm on a Friday afternoon, Harry laughing at Draco’s attempts to look nondescript to a couple of younger students passing by. Ever since Harry began visiting Draco regularly, it has become common knowledge that Draco has his own dorm outside of his house. There are many rumours as to the reason why but no one is close. Despite Hermione’s revelation on nightshade a couple of weeks prior, neither is Harry. Although, he stopped trying many days ago.

“I think I might be addicted to your laugh,” Draco says, and if there is any way to interpret that platonically, it is ruined by the way he turns and steps in front of Harry so that Harry can feel every breath on his face. Harry stops laughing. The door closes beside him.

Harry’s senses are overloaded with Draco, fresh spearmint – his breath, dazzling grey – his eyes, heat, electricity, spark – his body so close, all but touching, and absolutely and completely kissable – his lips. Harry tries not to stare at them, he does. Because he already knows he can’t. There’s no temptation strong enough.

“Can I kiss you?” The words are running through Harry’s mind but they end up coming out of Draco’s mouth.

Harry closes his eyes. He is resolute. No temptation is strong enough. “No.”

Draco must take a step back because Harry finds himself able to breathe again. He doesn’t open his eyes. He needs a moment.

“I thought as much.” Draco’s voice says, not as distant as Harry had hoped. “You’ve always been the good one. Even now when…But you’re right. We shouldn’t. It will only confuse things. But-“ Draco’s voice turns into a whisper – “I want you to know _I want to_.” Harry’s eyes spring open. He can’t help it. Draco is only a step away from him and staring at him more intently than anyone has before. “I’ve _always_ wanted to.”

Harry barely manages to escape **,** his heart threatening to jump right through his chest if he stays any longer. Merlin, it’s exactly the wakeup call Harry needs. He’s been so drawn into Draco Malfoy that he’d almost forgotten that it isn’t really Draco Malfoy at all, at least not in his proper state. And Harry needs to fix it. He should be fixing it.

At first when Harry strides out of Draco’s dorm, careful not to look back and find himself slipping, he is merely trying to get as far away from him as he can. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to clear his head until he’s on the other side of the Great Lake. And even that wouldn’t be enough distance from Draco Malfoy.

When he realises the futility of his mission he changes direction and heads down to Slughorn’s office. It’s desperate, Harry knows, but Slughorn had given him some cryptic clues early on, maybe he might let something further slip, something that will slide the last puzzle piece of this mystery into place.

Almost at Slughorn’s office, Harry’s trying to work out how best to approach the system – play off Slughorn’s admiration for him or try and tug on his heartstrings - when he hears voices. He slows his pace to quieten his footsteps and creeps the remaining distance to Slughorn’s door. It’s slightly ajar and, _oh yes_ , that’s Madam Pomfrey’s voice. Harry thanks his lucky stars and strains his ear to listen, not willing to cast any spells and potentially give away his position.

“– until the tests come back with no serious side effects.” Madam Pomfrey’s voice says.

“Do we leave him for a bit longer?” Slughorn’s voice booms back. “It will be much easier to complete his studies this way. You know, he’s always been a bit – “

“Horace!” Madam Pomfrey interrupts. “What are you thinking? It’s too dangerous, not to mention completely unethical.” Her tone is full of disapproval and Harry want to shake her hand. How dare Slughorn suggest delaying any kind of treatment to Malfoy?

“Yes, well, I was only thinking of the boy’s education.” Slughorn says sheepishly. “He’s much easier to teach this way. But of course you’re right. We’ll do the testing overnight and administer to Mr. Malfoy in the morning if all goes well.”

“I’ll send an owl to the Manor and let them know. I’m sure Mrs. Malfoy will be pleased.”

There’s a scraping of a chair and Harry quickly hurries backwards, pulling out his invisibility cloak as he does. He just manages to cover himself completely when Madam Pomfrey emerges. She strides past him without a glance.

Harry exhales. Malfoy’s going to be cured. Tomorrow. He should be happy. This is what he wanted. Why isn’t he happy?

He knows why. He’s being selfish.

_“As long as you understand that this is only temporary.”_

But why does it have to be?


	8. The Unexpected Side

Harry’s eyes flicker open, his brain whirls to life. It’s dark. Why is he awake? He hears it again. A soft hooting right at his ear. He jumps up and stares at the small owl by his bed. It hoots again and offers out its leg with a small piece of parchment attached. Harry takes it curiously and reads the note, pausing only to wipe the sleep from his eyes.

_Dear Mrs. Malfoy,_

_Professor Slughorn and I believe we are almost complete in preparing the cure for your son. We are in the process of completing final testing and should be in a position to administer in the morning._

_I believe its best if we do this at the Manor so that we don’t need to move him. If you could please continue to keep him contained for now – the waiting is finally almost over._

_Kind Regards,_

_Madam Pomfrey  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Quite expectedly, the note leaves Harry confused. Firstly, why has the note been delivered to him rather than Mrs. Malfoy and secondly, and more terrifyingly, “keep him contained”? What does that mean? It sounds as if they’re treating Draco as an animal rather than a human being. He looks back over to the owl for at least an answer to his first question.

“Why did you bring this to me?” he whispers waving the note. “It’s addressed to Narcissa Malfoy, not me.”

The owl hoots impatiently, or at least Harry interrupts it that way – it’s hard to tell with hoots – and nods back at the letter. Harry stares at it, searching for some sign. He turns it over his hands and – _oh_. That’s why it was delivered to him. On the back page, there is a single word, drawn in a messy italic scrawl:

_Help._

Harry is out of his bed in less than second, fully dressed (albeit over his pajamas and very haphazardly) in less than a minute and out of the common room in less than another. He runs through the corridors of Hogwarts, with only one thought – to get to Draco. Because he recognises the handwriting.  Despite it being a littler wilder in its execution, he knows it is certainly Draco’s. And he’s answering the call.

It’s not long before he arrives at Draco’s adhoc dorm and spells it open. He has a quick look around but it’s as he expected – empty. Without much further thought he heads over to the fireplace, and searches for the floo powder he knows must be here. The mantelpiece is empty, or at least it appears so, but Harry’s not convinced. He feels arounds with his hand and _yes, there it is_! Invisible to the eye but there all the same – a small bowl of powder. He grasps some in his hand, quickly throws it into the fireplace and follows it in.

“Malfoy Manor,” he calls out as clearly as he can despite the smoke in his throat and the heat at his neck. And the world begins to spin, a little bit like apparating but with plenty more knocks and bruises on the way.

On the other side it’s dark and quiet. Not quite the environment Harry expected a cry (or letter) for help to have come from. Still, he’s not about to quit now. If Draco is in any danger, Harry has to help. When his eyes adjust to the darkness, Harry realises the fireplace has dropped him into an empty bedroom. Is this where Draco sleeps then? But why does it have to be here at Malfoy Manor? Sure, the room is much larger and the bed looks much comfier than the tiny dorm at Hogwarts, but Harry seriously doubts a student’s comfort needs warrant activating a fireplace for free travel back and forth.

He ventures out of the room and finds himself in a long, dark corridor ending in a grand staircase There’s a soft rushing sound coming from the wind outside. Harry almost feels as if he’s in a haunted house. Malfoy Manor is certainly big enough and old enough to warrant the title, and merlin knows there have been people tortured and killed here. Harry shakes his head. He’s a wizard. He shouldn’t be afraid of ghosts. He sees them all the time at Hogwarts.

He moves further along the corridor slowly, unsure of his next move. It would take ages to search the Manor for Draco. The place is huge. Harry racks his brain trying to think of a helpful spell. If only Hermione were here. She’d know the right spell for sure.

Harry keeps moving until he reaches the staircase at the end of the corridor. He’s wondering whether he should continue searching the second floor or head down and start at the bottom when he hears footsteps underneath him. He takes a step back into the corridor and feels around for the invisibility cloak in his – fuck. It’s back at Hogwarts in his own dorm. He had gotten dressed so quickly, he hadn’t even thought about it.

Without any other option, Harry ducks into the first room he finds and hovers behind the slightly ajar door, waiting for the footsteps to pass him. Harry listens, holding his breath, as whoever it is climbs the stairs. Just before the footsteps reach him, a familiar female voice whispers, “Incendio,” bathing the corridor in light, and allowing Harry to see clearly a woman with long blonde hair passing by him: Narcissa Malfoy.

He carefully ducks his head out into the corridor to watch where she goes, still cursing himself for not bringing his cloak. Sneaking around other peoples’ houses is a little difficult without its aid. Luckily Mrs. Malfoy doesn’t turn around so Harry remains unseen. He watches as she unlocks a door adjacent to the room Harry had arrived in. Her head barely ducks in before she is removing it and closing the door again. Harry quickly moves back before she turns around and returns down the corridor with a quiet: “Knox.” The candles in the corridor flicker and die.

Harry stays hidden for a cautious moment longer. He listens as Mrs. Malfoy’s footsteps reach the bottom of the stairs and he can just make out her voice as she speaks: “He’s fine, darling. If you’re worried so much, perhaps you should go to – “ Her voice fades away as she disappears further into the Manor. Harry spares a small moment for who Mrs. Malfoy is talking to – Darling? It couldn’t be Lucius out of Azkaban? – before slipping out into the corridor and retracing her footsteps to that door.

A whispered “Alohomora,” and he’s in, the door creaking open softly but still loud enough for Harry to throw a paranoid look behind him before entering.

‘’I knew you’d come.”

Harry whirls around to face the voice in the darkness. He finds Draco laying down in bed but clearly not by choice. Thick streams of dark red smoke twist around his body, keeping him pinned in position, his hands helpless at his side. Harry runs to him immediately, reaching out to the smoke, as if to rip and tear it away, but it burns his hands and he springs back in surprise.

“Your wand, Potter,” he is reminded. “Use your wand.”

Harry fishes around in his pocket and withdraws his wand – thank merlin he didn’t forget that too. He raises it against the smoke and then pauses. He has no idea what spell to combat smoke bondage with. Again, he wishes he had Hermione with him. She would surely know this spell too.

Luckily it seems Draco does as well, because he whispers the incantation for Harry to repeat: “Leniret Fumum.” The smoke loosens and unwraps, curling in on itself until it disappears into nothing. Draco wastes no time in getting up and heading to the door. He sticks his head out, obviously surveying the corridor and then motions for Harry to follow him as he sneaks out.

“Why – “ Harry starts to ask, stuffing his wand back into his back pocket as he trails behind Draco into the corridor, but Draco turns and slaps a hand over his mouth, muffling him.

“They might hear,” he whispers through gritted teeth, his eyes flashing wildly. He drops his hand and turns back around, heading for the door from which Harry arrived. 

“Where – “ Harry asks in a whisper as soon as the hand is removed.

“I have to get away from _him_.” Draco interrupts, his words tightly articulated, nothing like the smooth, calm voice Harry has grown accustomed to recently.

“Who is – “ Harry tries to ask, wondering if by him, Draco means his father, Lucius Malfoy.

His words are cut off when a hand curls around his shirt collar and slams him against the wall. Draco’s face is close, and screwed up in rage. And Harry has no idea where it’s coming from.  “Shut. The. Fuck. Up. Potter.”’

And that’s the second time Draco’s called him Potter. A sinking feeling hits Harry.

“Are you – “ _cured?_ Harry wants to ask but the warning expression on Draco’s face causes his voice to falter. He remains silent as he follows Draco into the next room. Harry continues to watch silently as Draco searches the room for floo powder, his demeanor becoming more and more frantic as he does.

Harry slips past him unnoticed and fondles the mantelpiece searching for – _yes!_ There’s invisible floo powder here as well. He grasps a handful and gestures to Draco whose eyes alight as the powder comes into view in Harry’s hand. Draco begins to stride towards him and Harry has the alarming thought he is about to be swept up in an embrace and thanked with a myriad of forceful kisses.  But of course the thought remains only a fantasy. Instead, Draco snatches the powder from Harry’s hand and walks straight into the fireplace. Far from a thank you, the only word he says is “Hogwarts” as the flames from the fireplace engulf him.

For a second, Harry stands still. He knew this was coming. He knew when Draco was back to his regular self, he wouldn’t want anything to do with him. He knew it but he let himself be tricked anyway. He let himself be drawn into Draco, let himself start to feel…but there’s no point dwelling on that anymore. Whoever he’s been with these past couple of months, it wasn’t Draco Malfoy.  Just another fantasy.

He grabs some more floo and enters the fireplace, following Draco – no, it’s probably Malfoy again now – to Hogwarts. He hardly feels the pain as his body hurtles through the floo system, his untucked elbows hitting an assortment of chimney interiors on the way.

When the rushing stops, he’s standing back in D – Malfoy’s dorm, the walls closer than he remembered. And Malfoy is leaning up against the bed post facing him, a very Malfoy like (and completely un-Draco like) smirk on his face. Harry isn’t quite sure how to respond to that. He isn’t used to being alone with _this_ Draco, this _Malfoy_.

And he’s even more confused when the smirk drops, and _his_ Draco appears to be back. “Can I kiss you?” he asks again. Merlin.  How can the same words from only earlier in the same night seem so different?  Harry is under no moral instruction to decline this time. But now, he’s not so sure he wants to. Because he doesn’t know Malfoy. Just Draco. And despite appearances, this isn’t Draco.

But Malfoy is already taking the small steps between them, and Harry is finding it harder to separate him from Draco. Especially when the next words out of his mouth are “I’ve always wanted to.” Especially when he’s looking at Harry in that way, with the smallest smile curling at the end of his lips. Harry is frozen, torn between having what he knows he wants and what he doesn’t think he should want anymore.

Draco, no, Malfoy’s face is close now, close enough Harry could kiss him with only the slightest inclination of his head. And he’s tempted to do just that, but his body isn’t listening to him anymore. And so he waits. He waits while Draco reaches out and trails a gentle hand down Harry’s arm, Harry's hairs rising up in response even through the fabric of his clothes. He waits while that hand travels around to Harry’s back, drawing enticing patterns that Harry feels as if they were burning directly onto his skin. Harry lets his eyes close as Draco’s hand travels further down his back. Merlin, Harry wonders how long he’s going to wait just for a kiss.

Harry feels the hand withdraw, hears Draco draw in a breath and he knows this is it – the kiss. Finally. He braces himself for the impact when –

“BOMBARDA!”

The word rings in Harry’s ears, and the force of the spell hits him from behind so hard he falls to his knees. He opens his eyes, first searching for Draco making sure that’s he’s okay. He’s back to his earlier position, leaning against the bedpost, but instead of a smirk, his face is split open wide laughing, and he’s twirling a wand between his fingers, _Harry’s_ wand.

Despite recognizing it in D – Malfoy’s hands, Harry hand instinctively falls to his back pocket. Empty. The ringing stops and is replaced with cruel, keening laughter. Harry takes a quick look behind him – the fireplace has been blasted to pieces, a single remaining flame flickering pathetically. He looks back up at Malfoy.

“I suppose I must thank you for saving me, Potter.” Malfoy’s cold voice replaces his laughter. “I mean, I knew the _saviour_ couldn’t possibly resist a cry for help. Didn’t you wonder why my own mother had me restrained? I guess your pathetic lovesick brain is a little confused. _Can I kiss you?_ Please, Potter. A house-elf is harder to fool.”  Malfoy laughs again, the sound wrapping itself around Harry just like dark smoke, inescapable.

Harry watches his wand where it hangs loosely from Malfoy’s fingers at eye level. Maybe if he’s fast enough, he can lunge forward and snatch it back before – but Malfoy clearly sees where his attention is and raises the wand above his head, teasingly. “Oh yes, thanks for the wand too. That’s really all I needed you for, actually. The reckless no-questions-asked rescue, and the easily obtained wand. I promise when I use it, I’ll think of you.” He lowers the wand to target Harry, his smirk unwavering.

“Avada Kedavra.“


	9. The Dangerous Side

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This is a little violent. I mean not especially, but maybe unexpectedly so? (although I guess you're expecting it now) I'm not sure. Contact me before you read if you're worried. Best way to get me is on tumblr as queenofthyme. (not to be confused with queen-of-thyme which appears to actually be a tumblr blog dedicated to herbs...yeah that's definitely not me. If you find drarry and memes, you'll know you're in the right place)

It’s not the first time Harry’s died. In fact, it’s the third time the lightning green bolt of Avada Kedavra has hit him. So, he shouldn’t be so surprised when his brains flickers to life again. But, he really thought this time was it. In the split second he had to comprehend what was happening before the green bolt hit him, all he could think was _this is the end._ But his senses are returning, his eyes opening.

He’s no longer in Malfoy’s dorm. Instead, he’s standing in what appears to be an endless corridor surrounded by dusty shelving that towers above him. There’s something familiar about this place. If he could just –

“Welcome back, Potter,” Malfoy’s voice spits from behind him. Harry instinctively tries to turn toward him but is greeted with a burning sensation in his chest. He looks down to find his body intricately wrapped in blood red smoke. “You took your time _not dying,”_ Malfoy’s voice continues. “I guess that’s what I get for trying to kill the boy who lived.”

Malfoy walks around and finally comes into view, his face screwed up something nasty. It’s so unfamiliar to Harry after spending weeks adjusting to seeing a smile on that same face. And so fucking confusing.

“Why did – what – how – you’re cured?” Harry somehow manages to stutter out, his voice weak and croaky from disuse. Just how long was he out of it for?

Malfoy scoffs at this. “Soon,” he amends. “Once I work out how to kill him.”

Him? Harry still can’t understand why Malfoy tried to kill him and now he wants to kill someone else as well? This – _nothing_ – makes sense.

“Who?” Harry croaks out.

“My better half.” Malfoy says, giving him a wide falsified smile. If he had directed that smile at him only moments (hours? How long has it been?) earlier, Harry would have thought it to be genuine.

“Your what?”

Malfoy’s fake smile vanishes to be replaced by exaggerated pity. “Are you really this slow, Potter? I don’t have the patience for this. Let’s try again.” He raises his wand and targets Harry once more. “Avada Kedavra.”

Okay, Harry should probably be used to dying and rising from the dead by now, but for those who aren’t personally familiar with the feeling, it’s very odd. Not quite like sleeping like they say, _maybe_ physically. But mentally it’s a whole different rollercoaster. When your brain is so convinced you’re dead despite your body waking up, there is a bit of a delay before you feel anything like yourself again. And Harry’s brain has been told it’s dead twice in one night. It’s a bit much.

So, when Harry’s eyes open, his brain is much further behind. He’s not really seeing Malfoy pacing in front of him, or hearing Malfoy’s current rant, he’s sort of just floating in a very blurry, muted bubble. Until it pops and Harry’s senses are assaulted all at once. Taking in his surroundings once more, and that old burnt smell, it suddenly clicks where they are: The Room of Requirement.

“What a waste of my time,” Malfoy is saying as he continues to pace back and forth in front of Harry. “I can’t even kill you.  It’s _him_. He’s in my fucking head.”

Harry’s brain, still playing a bit of catch up, struggles to understand what is going on. “Who’s in your head? What happened to you?”

Malfoy ignores this and continues his rant which Harry isn’t sure is directed at him or not. “I can’t imagine you’re very susceptible to an imperius charm? I was going to use a first year, but since I can’t fucking kill you…although if I can’t even perform a simple killing curse, imperio might be – argh…How do I get rid of him?”

“Who are you talking about?” Harry tries again, desperate to understand what could have turned Malfoy into this. A small voice in his head reminds Harry that this was him. His potion.

“Shut up, Potter,” Malfoy says pausing to give Harry a threatening glare before returning to his pacing. “Let me think.”

Harry’s brain is about to short-circuit. There’s too much he doesn’t know. That he doesn’t understand. And there’s one bit that he doesn’t get at all. If he turned Malfoy into _this_ with his potion, why has Malfoy been acting different for so long, acting like… “Was it all – did you ever – why did you pretend to like me?” Harry stutters out with very little dignity.

Malfoy stops pacing in front of Harry and turns to him slowly. And then laughs. Just throws his head back and laughs, loud and patronising. “I’ve tried to kill you twice, you’re tied up, completely at my mercy and you want to know if I ever _liked_ you?  Are your feelings hurt, Potter? Do you _love_ me, Potter?” He asks, spitting out the words, his snide tone turning into something more like disgust the longer he speaks.

Harry swallows the lump in his throat. He’s faced Voldemort, for Merlin’s sake. This is just a potion affected, teenage Draco Malfoy. Who, true, has tried to kill him twice. But _tried_ is the operative word. All he managed to do was knock Harry out. Almost as if…

“You can’t kill me,” Harry realises. “You have to really mean it for it to work. And you – “

“Nice try, Potter. But you are nothing to me. Don’t forget it,” interrupts Malfoy harshly. “Now either you shut up of your own volition or I’ll make you.”

“If you can really mean it,” Harry challenges. He regrets it a little when Malfoy takes a step towards him, his face reddening in anger. He really needs to learn to tone it down on the sass when he is the one tied up and wandless.

 “There are other ways to shut someone up, Potter,” Malfoy threatens, with a suggestive raise of his eyebrow.

Harry’s eyes fall to Malfoy’s lips, so close to his face. Surely, he doesn’t think –

 “Oh, good grief, Potter,” Malfoy interrupts, taking a step back. “Get your head out of the fucking gutter. I meant cut out your tongue.”

Right. Fuck. Harry has been seriously underestimating Malfoy. And he’s just starting to realise how much danger he’s actually in. He scans the shelves beside him for something, _anything_ useful. But it’s all books and knick-knacks, objects now meaningless after years of being hidden. He’s surprised the fiendfyre didn’t destroy everything last year.

Malfoy is talking to himself now, staring down at his wand as he twirls it between his fingers. “There are other ways to kill people too. He can’t stop me from _stabbing_ Potter to death, can he?” He points his wand straight down the corridor. “Accio knife,” he says with a smile.

Sure enough, someone at Hogwarts, over the years, has stored a sharp butcher’s knife in the Room of Requirement. Harry hears it whizzing towards them before it reaches their corridor and zooms into Malfoy’s hand. There’s a dark stain from the tip to the hilt, and Harry decides not to ponder the substance, lest he feel sicker than he does already.

Malfoy looks up from the knife and shoots a wide smile at Harry. In this context with a knife in one hand, wand in the other, approaching Harry, he looks positively frightening.

“Wait,” Harry says frantically, his eyes trained on the knife as it gets closer. “Wait. Dra – Malfoy. This doesn’t make any sense. You’re not thinking straight. What’s the point in killing me? Whatever’s wrong with you, I can help. I can – “

“You already have, Potter. I suppose before I kill you, I should thank you for that terribly made potion of yours. It’s given me a whole new outlook on life. Any last words? No, actually, I think I’ve heard enough from you. Let’s skip to the – “

Malfoy is interrupted by three simultaneous voices.

“Stop!” “Harry!” “Bloody Hell!”

Harry cranes his neck to find Ron, Hermione, and Malfoy approaching them from the end of the corridor, wands outstretched, the Marauder’s Map dangling from Ron’s other hand. Wait. Malfoy?

Harry looks from the Draco Malfoy at the end of the corridor to the one directly in front of him, knife teetering ever so close to Harry’s throat. “There’s…two of you?”

The Malfoy by Harry sighs and turns to the intruders, wand raised to them, but keeping the knife in place. “I just asked for one day in peace. One fucking day to work out how to fucking kill you. Is that so fucking hard?”

“Please put the knife down,” the newly entered Malfoy says, his tone calm and steady, nothing like the unhinged man in front of Harry. Could this be…the Draco Harry really knows?

“Or what? You’ll ask me again? Only this time with a pretty please and sugar on top?” The unhinged Malfoy patronises.

Draco takes slow steps forward towards them. “I don’t have to ask you.”

“You think you have all the power, don’t you?” Malfoy drops the knife from Harry’s neck (Harry finally breathes) and waves it dramatically. “But anything you can do, I can do better. If you want to poison me with your love – yes, I felt that you sap, then I’ll enlighten you with my insight.” He closes his eyes, eyebrows furrowing. “Do you feel that?”

“That’s not insight.” Draco shakes his head as he continues to approach them. “It’s cruelty. And rage. I think you’ll find love’s much stronger.”

“STAY BACK,” Malfoy yells, causing Draco to freeze. “Stay away from me or I’ll kill him. I still can. You haven’t affected me so much that I can’t _slit his throat_.” He raises the knife back to Harry’s neck but this time his hand is shaking.

“You won’t.”

An agitated sound somewhere between a sign and a scream escapes from Malfoy’s mouth, his behaviour bordering on frantic. “It’s disgusting how you _care_ for him. It makes you weak. Can’t you see that? Why do you want to be weak?”

Harry watches warily as the knife waves under his chin. At this point it seems more likely that Malfoy will accidentally stab him rather than intentionally.

“Love isn’t a weakness,” Draco says, his voice gentle and soft, so unlike the version of himself he is speaking to. Harry is still struggling to understand what’s happening and how there are two Draco Malfoys but he is sure as hell knows who he wants to be the real one.

“Oh, you _love_ him,” the hopefully fake (cloned?) Malfoy mocks, his pitch rising as his voice wavers. “Of course. Well, that’ll make all the difference when I kill him. Perhaps you’ll die of a broken heart? Then I can finally be free of you, and your pathetic _love_ and do-gooder bullshit.”

Draco’s eyes flash, his lips tighten. “I’ll kill you first,” He says darkly, a fast turn from his previous tone that makes Harry wonder if this is the Draco he has come to know or someone else entirely.

Malfoy laughs, and Harry watches as the knife swings up near his eyes, barely missing his nose.  “Are you getting _angry?_ Did _I_ do that? We both know you won’t do it. If I can’t cast a killing curse, then there is no way you can. You’re more than welcome to borrow my knife though…after I’m done of course.

“Go on, then,” Draco urges.

“What?”

“Kill him if that’s your plan.”

“Yes, I will. I’m getting to that.” Malfoy tightens his grip on the knife and brings it back down to Harry’s throat.

“No, you’re not. Because I want nothing more than to slam your head into the ground over and over again. Which means you’re affecting me. And if you’re affecting me, I’m affecting you.”

Malfoy’s eyes dart to the knife and back to Draco. “You’re. Not. Affecting. Me,” he says through gritted teeth.

Draco starts moving forward again with slow steps. “Then why haven’t you killed him yet?”

Malfoy’s grip loosens on the knife, it drops an inch away from Harry’s neck. “That’s – I – I’m going to.”

“No, you’re not,” Draco says again, getting closer now.

“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME,” Malfoy drops the knife from Harry and brings it back up to point at Draco along with his wand. His voice is rising and falling unpredictably. “I don’t need you in my head. I don’t want to feel that way again. You can have fucking Potter, just LEAVE ME ALONE.”

Malfoy backs away down the corridor, away from Draco, away from Harry.

“I’m not going to do that,” Draco says, moving forward still.

“Fuck y – “

“Expelliarmus!” “Incarcerous!”

Harry recognises Ron’s voice behind him, quickly followed by Hermione’s. His eyes had been so focused on the two Draco Malfoy’s, he hadn’t even noticed that they had disappeared and clearly found their way around the shelving to surprise Malfoy from behind.

With Malfoy taken care of, Draco, or at least a version of Draco Malfoy rushes to Harry’s side whispering the counter curse to release Harry from the bands of smoke surrounding his body before pulling him into his arms. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he says again and again, his voice back to that sweet gentle tone Harry’s ears welcome. Harry relaxes into those arms. He’s confused, exhausted and scared, but he feels safe here. And that will have to do for now.

Over Draco’s shoulder he catches a glimpse of the other Draco Malfoy, frantically straining against the rope from Hermione’s spell.

What the _fuck_ is going on?


	10. The Losing Side

Safe to say, Harry is absolutely and completely confused. Of course, he knew there was something up with Draco Malfoy but he had never considered there might be _two_ Draco Malfoys. And he’s still not exactly sure why. All he knows is the one in ropes by his feet tried to kill him. And he really hopes that’s not the real Malfoy.

The other Draco pulls away from him and Harry takes a good look at his face, as if to find some distinguishing factor, but every inch is the same as the violent Malfoy who threatened him with a knife. And Avada Kedavra-ed him twice. It’s disconcerting, and Harry finds himself taking a step back, away from both Draco Malfoys.

There’s plenty of question he wants to ask, but he’s not so sure he’s ready to hear the answers for them yet. So, he starts with something easy.

“How did you find me?” He addresses his question to Ron and Hermione, to save himself from looking at Draco right now.

Ron holds up the Marauder’s Map. “The map, obviously. When Malfoy came to us looking for – “

“I don’t think the Room of Requirement is the Room of Requirement anymore,” Hermione jumps in to explain, cutting Ron off. “It appears on the map just as this room. I think the fiendfyre destroyed its power.”

Harry nods. He tries to think of any other questions not involving Draco Malfoy but comes up blank. There’s no avoiding it. “And -” he takes a breath and gestures towards the Malfoy covered in ropes - “who is _that_?”

Hermione and Ron’s eyes dart to the other Draco, as if seeking his permission. Harry reluctantly follows their gaze.

“Do we have to do this now?” Draco asks, his tone irritated. Which is new. At least for this Draco. “I can’t think straight around him.”

“Ron will go fetch Slughorn and Pomfrey and explain what has happened,” Hermione says before Harry can answer. “I’ll stay here with…him. You and Malfoy can go somewhere else to talk.”

Ron turns to Hermione. “I’m not leaving you here with –” he looks over at Draco uncertainly and then to Malfoy on the floor, before turning back to Hermione – “you know.”

Hermione casts a quick spell and a cage surrounds Malfoy. She gives Ron a stern look. “I’ll be fine, Ronald. Just be quick.”

Hesitating only a second longer, Ron gives Hermione a brief kiss, passes over the Marauder’s Map to Harry – who takes it automatically – and heads off down the corridor, with one last glance at Malfoy. As he disappears around the corner, a heavy silence takes hold.

Harry isn’t sure where to look. He wants to look at Draco, _his_ Draco, but how can he even be sure that Draco is in the room with him right now?

After a moment that stretches on for far too long, a voice interrupts the silence. “Can we go now?”

Harry looks up from his feet to find Draco, _a_ Draco, staring at him. He can’t bring himself to speak so he nods. No further encouragement needed, and without waiting for Harry, Draco strides off down the corridor, ignoring the other Draco, the other Malfoy, on the floor.

Harry starts to follow automatically, his head still spinning too fast for him to function properly. _There are two Draco Malfoys_. Hermione’s voice stops him. “Harry, your wand.”

He turns back to Hermione and follows her gaze. His wand lies on the floor just outside Malfoy’s cage. The wand used to kill him. Or at least attempt to kill him. He bends down beside the cage to snatch it up and can’t help but stare into the cage, into the eyes of Draco Malfoy, _a_ Draco Malfoy.

“That’s not me, Potter,” he spits out. “You’re in love with a fantasy. And when I’m whole again, I won’t want anything to do with you.”

Harry stands up quickly, his heart pounding in his ears. He hardly feels it when Hermione puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t listen to him, Harry. Just go talk to Malfoy, please.”

“Haven’t I just done that?” Harry looks back down at Malfoy, but he has already turned away, slumping against the back of the cage.

“That’s not him,” Hermione says gently.

“How do you – “

“Just go. _Now.”_

Harry senses the finality in Hermione’s voice. He turns away with a shrug. He isn’t sure what to believe. But after so many weeks in the dark, it can’t hurt to have more answers. And if one of the Draco Malfoys is going to explain, then he’s eager to listen. But he can’t promise anything more than that.

It takes him a while to navigate the long-shelved corridors of the Room of Requirement, or more accurately now, The Room of Hidden Things. When he finds the door and exits it’s to Draco in the hallway, waiting. But as soon as he sees Harry, he’s off again, moving through the dark corridors of Hogwarts with surprising pace.

Harry stumbles to catch up. “How far do we – “

“Further.”

Draco keeps walking on. And just when Harry thinks it might be far enough, Draco takes another turn and continues. He leads them through a hidden passageway that takes them out into the Castle grounds. The early morning brings with it a chilling wind, but it seems only Harry notices. It’s not until they reach the outskirts of the Great Lake that Draco finally stops and turns to face Harry.

Harry shivers, but whether it’s from the wind or nerves he cannot tell. He waits for Draco to say something, to explain, but nothing is forthcoming. Harry grits his teeth. Again, he tries to start with something easy. At least comparatively.

“How did you know to look for me?”

“When he left the Manor, I could feel it. Without his thoughts running through my head, I felt lighter. Like I always do the further I am from him.”

“Then why were you staying at the Manor with – “ Harry isn’t sure how he’s supposed to phrase this – “ _him_?”

“It was Pomfrey’s idea. The more time we spent together, the more we influenced each other. And with me around, he was far less likely to try something. It was supposed to be safer. But, on my last night, I didn’t want to feel it, feel _him_ , in my head, so I kept as far away from him in the Manor as I could. I was being selfish again.” Draco shakes his head. “If I had stayed with him, then he wouldn’t have got away, he wouldn’t have tried to hurt you.”

“I’m the one who set him free,” Harry realises. If anything, this is all his fault. First the potion, itself. Now this.

“I should have expected that. And as soon as I felt him escape, I suspected - too late - it might have been you. It took me a while to get back to Hogwarts, with the floo blocked, but as soon as I did, I went to your dorm to check, and ran into Ron and Hermione. They’d noticed you’d been out of bed and thought you might be following me again, which wasn’t too far off, I guess. If Ron hadn’t had your map – which is incredible by the way – I don’t know if I would have found you soon enough.” Draco takes a shuddering breath.

“Draco, I’m sorry. This is –“

“You don’t need to apologise. Everything that has happened was because of me. Because of who I am.”

“And who are you?”

Draco laughs then. It’s a little sad, a little hysterical. And not at all helpful in any way.

“Shortly after your potion hit me,” he explains, “I split into two halves of myself.” He takes another breath. “According to Slughorn, it divided me into my light and dark side. But Madam Pomfrey thinks that’s a little simplistic, and I agree. Look how selfish I’ve been, wasting your time, when I’m only going to turn back into someone else. It’s not fair to you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Harry manages to choke out, cold air enveloping his throat. He tries to make sense of what he’s seen. This Draco, _his_ Draco, is only the good parts of Draco Malfoy? But it doesn’t make sense. There’s been good parts of Draco missing all this time too.

Draco looks out to the lake beside them. “I was hoping you’d never see that side of me. I was afraid you’d go looking for it.” He pauses and then corrects himself: “For me.”

“Why?” Harry asks. He supposes Draco’s right: in the end, he did go looking. But only because he didn’t know. If he’d known, well, he’s not sure what he would have done at all.

A scatter of laughter falls from Draco’s mouth but it’s humourless. “I’m half a person, Harry. I’m not enough. I’m not _whole_. “ Draco’s voice cracks.

“You are – “

“I’m just the highlights of a person,” interrupts Draco. “Not even that. Because when there’s nothing to compare the high to, it’s just a flat line. It’s nothing.” He turns back to face Harry, his lower lip trembling. “Like this, _I’m_ nothing.”

Harry wants to tell Draco he’s wrong. Of course, he’s wrong. After all the time they’ve spent together, with everything that Draco has made Harry feel. How can that be nothing? How can _he_ be nothing? But when he opens his mouth to say something, Draco starts up again.

“You saw me in there. When I’m around him, I become part of myself again. But not really. It’s different. I can hear all his thoughts, all my bad thoughts, but I’m separate from them. And they’re separate from me, so they’re worse. They’re harsher. Cruel to my own ears. I don’t like it but that’s me. That’s who I am. I need to be whole again so I can balance myself.”

“Draco, you’re – “ _not nothing. You’re so much more._

“Please don’t say anything, Harry,” interrupts Draco once more. “It’s just going to make this harder. Just let me…I need to tell you something before they cure me. It’s important.” Draco’s eyes are wet now, and staring into Harry’s intently. ”He’s…I mean I’m going to tell you it’s not true, but I like you, Harry. I’ve always liked you. Before all of this. I don’t want to live the way I do. I’m scared and stupid and a coward, but you can help me, Harry. Maybe, I’d do it for you, Harry.”

“Do what?” Harry asks gently, watching as the first tear falls down Draco’s face.

“Change.”

Harry lifts a hand to Draco’s face to catch the second tear. “You don’t need to – “

Draco cuts him off with a sad laugh. He closes his eyes and presses his face further into Harry’s hand. “Please, Harry. You’re forgetting how I really am. I’m cruel and arrogant. I treat you terribly to hide my real feelings.” He opens his eyes. “It won’t mean anything coming from me now. But when I’m whole, please make sure I’ve apologised before you let me do this.”

“Do what?” Harry has to ask again.

And then Draco’s face is at Harry’s, the gentle pressure of his lips bringing with it a forceful spark that electrifies Harry’s entire body. Harry can feel the wetness of Draco’s tears spilling onto his own face. He pulls away.

Draco doesn’t seem surprised. “Harry Potter, always the noble one,” he says lightly as he wipes the remaining tears from his face. He looks back out across the Great Lake to the light breaching the horizon. He turns to Harry, a small smile growing on his face. “Before I go, perhaps we can watch the sunrise together?”

Harry can’t deny Draco such a sweet request, and in truth, he’d do anything to delay returning to the castle. Anything to delay Draco’s inevitable “cure”. He’s been searching for answers for so long, desperate to find a cure for Draco. But now, knowing everything, and with the end in sight, Merlin, Harry wishes he’d just let himself enjoy the time he had with Draco.

As the sun rises, Harry sits there, with Draco Malfoy leaning on his shoulder, wondering if he’ll ever be this close to him again. He looks down at Draco and studies his face. Yes, it is identical to the other Malfoy. They’re part of the same person. But he was wrong earlier. There is something visibly different. It’s not their features that set them apart, it’s the way they use them. The way this Draco can look so sad, so vulnerable. And the way he can smile, so sweet, so genuine, exactly as he does now.

And so when the last of the sun surpasses the horizon, Harry wants to shove it right back down. Because he’s not ready for the day to start. He’s not ready to give up Draco Malfoy.   


	11. The Harder Side

“Where have you been?” Hermione demands when Harry and Draco reenter the Room of Hidden Things. The other Malfoy remains caged beside her, lying on his back now, surrounded by Ron, Professor Slughorn, Madam Pomfrey and Narcissa Malfoy. Draco’s hand slips from Harry’s.

“I needed time to prepare,” Draco says stepping forward. “But I’m ready now.”

Harry wants to pull Draco back, drag him out of this room, out of Hogwarts, somewhere far away so he can keep him all to himself. But it’s selfish. This is what Draco wants. So instead he clenches his fists with the effort to remain still.

Narcissa rushes forward to her son, her hands coming up to hold his face with a gentle grip. “Are you sure you’re ready, my darling?” She runs her fingers over his hairline affectionately. It makes Harry wonder if he’ll ever be that close to Draco again.

Draco nods his head mutely.

“I’d suggest being in contact when you drink the antidote,” Slughorn says from behind Narcissa, holding out a small vial. “Less space between you to cause complications.”

Draco steps back from his mother and turns to Harry. They stare at each other a moment. There are so many things Harry wants to say but he can’t voice a single word. Draco presses his own wand into Harry’s hand and then drops his gaze. He sighs, straightens his shoulders and pivots. He steps around his mother to stand before the cage, hands shaking.

“Well, go on,” he says to Hermione, his tone prickly now, eyes darting to his other half. Hermione mutters a few quick spells and enlarges the cage to encase both Draco Malfoys, one standing proudly, the other sprawled on the floor.

“Here,” Madam Pomfrey says, conjuring two small medicine cups and holding them out to Slughorn to pour the antidote into. “How are we going to get them to drink it at the same time?”

Narcissa raises her wand immediately directing it at her son, or one half of her son, the one lying on the floor at least. “Imper – “

“To your own son, Narcissa?” Interrupts Madam Pomfrey, almost dropping the potions as she hastily steps in front of Draco’s mother. “Surely –

“Do you know any other way?” Narcissa asks in a tired drawl that reminds Harry of Draco. Before any of this happened. Back when he was still Malfoy. And Harry was still Potter.

Slughorn clears his throat. “It’s illegal to perform an unforgiveable curse. It would be my duty to – “

Narcissa turns her head to Slughorn, her face impassive, calm. “When have you ever cared about your duty, Horace? After all the trouble you’ve gone to, keeping this hush hush to protect Mr. Potter – yes, I know it was not out of any regard for my son – you’re really going to expose it all, simply because I am willing to do what is necessary?”

When only silence follows this, Narcissa reraises her wand with a bored smile. “That’s what I thought.” She trains her wand on Malfoy. “Imperio.”

He stands up immediately under his mother’s control, eyes glassy, body limp, as if held up by puppet strings alone. The other Draco grips him by the arm, squeezing tighter than strictly necessary.

With a quick glance at Narcissa, Madam Pomfrey hurries forward with the medicine cups. Both Dracos hold out their hands willingly, one hanging loosely, one visibly shaking.

“On the count of three, Draco, dear,” Narcissa says, addressing the son not under her spell. “One, two – “

Both Draco Malfoy’s drink at once, their throats swallowing in unison. At first nothing happens. Harry stares into the cage, waiting, eyes switching between each Draco but lingering the longest on _his_ Draco. Then they both start shaking uncontrollably, vibrating faster than Harry’s eyes will allow him to monitor. Draco’s grip on Malfoy’s releases, but seems to fall into one single arm. The vibrating continues, faster now, so that when Harry blinks, he misses it completely.

In the cage, there is only one Draco Malfoy, hair shooting up in weird angles, as if he’s been struck by lightning. His shirt looks like a patchwork design, almost as if the spell didn’t know which clothes to keep him in. And his eyes dart around the room frantically, landing anywhere but on Harry.

Narcissa is the first to speak. “Release him.” Her tone is gentle but the demand is still clear.

Hermione tears her eyes away from Draco Malfoy and looks around the room for support. “Are we sure he’s – “

“There’s only one of me now, Granger,” snaps Draco from his cage, his voice cracking as if he hasn’t spoken in some time. “I thought you were supposed to be intelligent.”

Hermione holds out an arm to hold Ron back, who looks like he might deck Draco. After a reassuring nod from Madam Pomfrey and an unhelpful shrug from Slughorn, she takes down the cage with a simple wave of her wand.

Draco storms forward immediately, brushing past his mother without even a glance, to stand directly in front of Harry. Harry’s chest tightens; he’s a bundle of nerves. This is the real Draco Malfoy now. This is real.

“Draco – “

“My wand, Potter,” Draco says through gritted teeth, not looking directly into Harry’s eyes, instead somewhere near the centre of his nose.

“Oh right.” Harry scrambles to hand over the wand. He has a moment to register the coldness of Draco’s hand before it is snatched away. “Do you remem – “

“ _Don't_.”

“Can we talk about –“

“What part of what I just said don't you understand Potter?” Draco’s voice is a harsh whisper, but with the silence in the room, Harry is sure everyone can hear it plainly. “If it wasn't clear enough when I tried to kill you twice tonight, I don't like you. And I haven't forgotten that you were the one who did this to me in the first place. So, _don't_.”

“I –“ Harry has to try. He can’t just let Draco go after everything they’ve been through.

“Just _don't_ ,” Draco interrupts again, knocking past Harry violently. He strides down the corridor alone heading to the entrance. Harry considers following him. _Don’t_. He doesn’t.

_Just don’t._

Madam Pomfrey’s voice cuts through Harry’s thoughts. “We should really be keeping him under observation for at least – “

“I’ll handle it,” interrupts Narcissa briskly, already heading after her son. She pauses at the end of the corridor and turns back to them, looking between Professor Slughorn and Madam Pomfrey. “Thank you for curing him. I am in your debt,” she says in a much softer voice, before racing back after Draco.

Harry stands still once more, clenching his fists. He hardly notices when Hermione and Ron come to stand beside him. There’s a twisting sensation climbing its way up from his gut all the way to his throat. He feels it shifting about within him like a poison spreading and strengthening, taking over him one cell at a time.

Professor Slughorn’s voice is soft and distant. “You three should get to bed. I’ll let your Professors know you’ve been given the day off. And I’m sure I don’t have to say this, but please keep this to yourselves. It wouldn’t reflect well on the school or…“ Harry looks up at the pause to catch Slughorn’s gaze on him. He clears his throat and continues. “Besides, Mr. Malfoy is cured now so no harm, no foul, right?”

Harry wants to laugh but no sound comes out. Slughorn is wrong. This has caused plenty of harm, to Draco of course, but now to Harry as well. Because nothing hurts quite so much as loss. And it appears Harry has truly lost Draco Malfoy.

 

* * *

 

Draco or Malfoy, Harry isn’t sure what to call him anymore, is out of school for two days. Harry searches for him at every meal in the Great Hall, at every shared class. He even visits the dormitory on the fourth floor but the same door no longer leads to that room with the fireplace. It’s just a supply closet now.

He knows (okay, he hopes) if he can just get Draco, Malfoy, alone, he might be able to find _his_ Draco again, if only for a moment. Even a second would be worth it.

When Draco finally turns up in first period Potions, Harry moves lightning fast, taking the seat beside him before his Slytherin friends can. He hears the snickers of Parkinson and Nott behind him but he doesn’t care. He’s been losing his mind the last few days without Draco.

Although it doesn’t play out exactly as he’d imagined (okay, hoped) because when Draco turns to him, his face is a Malfoy sneer.

“Full offence Potter, but I’d rather have a Potions partner who knows what they’re doing.”

Harry blanches at the jab. He’s been struggling in Potions ever since he spilt his potion on Malfoy. His fear of fucking a potion up again and hurting someone has made it impossible to concentrate properly. He finds himself checking the recipes over and over to ensure he’s adding the right ingredients. But then he’s stirring clockwise instead of anti-clockwise, or adding a dash instead of a sprinkle of something, or dicing instead of slicing. Before the incident, he had been on his way to obtaining an O for Outstanding from Horace, even without the help of the Half-Blood Prince. Now, he’ll be lucky to get an A for Acceptable.

Professor Slughorn enters the classroom. With a curious look at Harry sitting next to Draco, he starts the lesson, explaining the potion they will be brewing. Harry isn’t listening.

He leans over to Draco, whose attention has diverted to Slughorn at the front of the class, and whispers: “How have you been?”

Draco scoffs then and whispers back without moving his head. “What do you think? Great. Fucking _great_.”

Professor Slughorn directs them to the recipe in their textbooks – a cooling draught used to cure fevers. It looks complex. Harry feels a little dizzy.

Returning from the class’s mad rush to the Potions pantry to stock up on all the ingredients, Harry can see Draco has already progressed a decent amount with his Potion, it’s simmering in his cauldron with a light pinkish hue. Harry sets his ingredients down on their shared desk and reads step one.

_Finely slice the newt spleen and add piece by piece._

Harry pulls the spleen towards him and tries to talk to Draco once more. “If you want to talk about – “

“I don’t. I _really_ don’t,” interrupts Draco looking over at Harry with a scowl. His eyes dart down to the spleen and then Harry’s cauldron. He yanks the spleen out of Harry’s hand and replaces it with a jar of Flobberworm mucus. Harry looks back to his Potions textbook confused. He reads the first line again.

  1. _Add two spoonfuls of the flobberworm mucus to a hot cauldron._
  2. _Finely slice the newt spleen and add piece by piece._



Fuck. He sucks in a breath and tries to concentrate, reading the textbook carefully now, before adding the Flobberworm mucus to his cauldron. He starts on the spleen, looking over to find Draco watching his actions cautiously. There’s a comfort in having Draco’s eyes monitoring him. He clears his throat.

“Why don’t you want to talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Draco says through gritted teeth. He’s stirring his Potion clockwise with his wand now. Harry quickly goes to follow, picking up his own wand. Draco’s hand stops him.

“Fuck, Potter. Not until you’ve added the Pixie Dust.” Draco pushes Harry’s hand down, away from his cauldron. Harry looks down at Draco’s hand on his – it’s almost as if they’re holding hands. At Harry’s gaze, Draco snatches his hand back and returns to stirring his own potion.

“Whatever you want to say, just get it out of your system now so you can stop bothering me.”

“Draco – “ Harry starts, ignoring his potion now.

“It’s Malfoy.”

“Malfoy,” Harry corrects himself with a tight jaw. “I know that you might not feel the same about me as when you were split –“

“That wasn’t me,” Malfoy says, his eyes focused on his potion. “I’m not a fucking sensitive sap. If that’s who you think I am, then – “

“I just mean,” Harry interrupts quickly, “well, I thought we could be friends now?”

“Friends?” Malfoy echoes turning to Harry. “What makes you think I want to be friends with _you_?” His eyes dart down to Harry’s cauldron and he lets out a frustrated sigh. Harry follows his gaze to find his potion fuming, the newt spleen shriveling up and blackening. His head spins.

Malfoy pushes him aside and begins working on Harry’s potion. Slicing, crushing, adding, stirring, too fast for Harry to follow. The fumes begin to subside. Harry’s head is still spinning.

“You – “ He pauses to correct himself. “I mean, _he_ , said that you liked me. That you had always liked me.”

Malfoy’s posture stiffens, his hands pause over Harry’s cauldron. “That’s not – “

“He also said you’d say it wasn’t true,” Harry says quickly. His heart is pounding against his ribs, desperate to break free. He’s nervous and dazed and ready to faint, but he’s hanging on. Hanging on for Malfoy.

Malfoy shrugs and moves back to his own cauldron. He won’t meet Harry’s eye. “Believe who you want, Potter. It makes no difference to me. Just leave me alone. “

Harry watches Malfoy’s face a little longer, searching for something, anything, to show he’s lying. But he’s not giving anything away in his face, ignoring Harry completely now, or at least pretending to.

But Harry is hopeful, because, for the rest of the class, every time he picks up the wrong ingredient, misses a step or cuts something incorrectly, Malfoy is there, correcting him, coaching him, helping him. He might do it with a frown or an insult but he does it all the same. And Harry isn’t so scared of fucking up his potion anymore. In fact, he might be doing quite a bit of it on purpose.


	12. The Softer Side

To Harry’s disappointment, for lack of a much stronger, heartbreaking word, Malfoy and Zabini appear to make up. At least, now that Malfoy’s back in the Great Hall for meals, he’s sitting with his Slytherin buddies of course, but always next to – and much too close to – Blaise Zabini.

Harry isn’t new to jealously. He felt it when Ginny was with Dean Thomas. But this feeling is much worse. Because now that jealously is coupled with unbearable hopelessness. Harry knows that somewhere within that touch exterior, somehow, Malfoy cares for him. Draco told him so himself. True, it was under the influence of a potion, but it was real. It had to be real.

Harry stares across the tables at Malfoy during lunch, feeling very much like they’re back in sixth year. Harry’s throat constricts in his throat as he watches Malfoy laugh at something Zabini’s says, leaning into Zabini’s body as he does. Malfoy’s eyes flicker up across the room and land on Harry mid laugh. Harry stares back, frozen, as Malfoy’s face tightens. And then those eyes flicker back down and ignore Harry for the rest of lunch, as if nothing has happened.

Harry finds it hard to stomach the remaining food on his plate.

 

* * *

 

Malfoy and Zabini leave lunch early for afternoon classes, and Harry is standing up and following them before his brain catches up to what his body is doing.

He follows them through the castle corridors, not worrying about being caught, not even considering pulling out his invisibility cloak. There’s just something pulling him along, behind Malfoy like a pathetic puppet, and he doesn’t have the strength to cut the string. But Malfoy does.

His eyes dart behind him and catch sight of Harry. He doesn’t look surprised. He stops walking.

“Why are we – “ starts Zabini before Malfoy pushes him up against a wall and kisses him. Or snogs him, really. It’s heavy and fast and Harry is standing there watching it all, frozen. And Malfoy knows it.

Zabini’s eyes open and fall on Harry. He pushes Malfoy back. “What the fuck, Potter?”

Harry ignores this, his attention solely on Malfoy who is conveniently avoiding his eye. “Using Zabini to make me jealous, Malfoy?” he asks. “That's low, even for you.”

Malfoy looks up at Harry with a sneer. “I'm not trying to make you jealous Potter. I'm trying to make you see that I am _not_ interested. But I obviously didn't account for your arrogance. It won't happen again.” He turns away, gesturing for Zabini to follow.

Zabini doesn’t move. He looks down at Harry with narrowed eyes. “Why would Draco be interested in a half-blood Gryffindor like you?”

“Cut it out Blaise,” Malfoy says quietly, tugging at Zabini’s arm.

“Because Draco isn't as hard as he likes to think he is,” Harry answers Zabini, eyes boring into Malfoy.

Malfoy’s eyes widen, cheeks reddening (Harry hadn’t meant the innuendo, but he’s pleased with the reaction regardless), and he splutters a moment before trying to respond in a choked voice. “That’s not – what do you – “

Zabini cuts Malfoy off, with a smirk in Harry’s direction. “That’s funny, Potter. Because he was certainly hard enough last night when he fucked – “

“Blaise!” Malfoy interrupts loudly, clearly having found his voice again. It echoes through the hall in the silence that follows.

Harry looks between Zabini’s smirk and Malfoy’s apologetic frown. His insides are squirming uncomfortably. He knows he has no claim over Malfoy at all. But it still feels like a betrayal. Last night he was tossing and turning, all the while Malfoy enjoyed the comforts of someone else. It hurts.

That unbearable hopelessness takes hold of him completely, temporarily drowning out its running mate; jealousy. He lets it turn him around and walk away. He’s had enough of being a puppet.

"Potter." The strings pull loosely at his back but he keeps walking.

 

* * *

 

This time, it’s Malfoy who seeks out Harry, finding him lying by the Great Lake. Harry wonders if Malfoy is aware this is where they watched the sunrise together, only days ago. Harry tries not to read into anything when Malfoy lies down beside him on the wet, muddy grass, without a single complaint.

In fact, he doesn’t say anything at all, which is maddening. Harry takes it upon himself to fill the gap.

“So, back with Zabini, huh?” Thankfully, his voice comes out stronger than he expected.

Harry hears Malfoy sigh beside him. “If I knew it was just going to make you this fucking jealous, I wouldn’t have bothered.”

“So you _are_ using him!” Harry tries to make sense of Malfoy’s motivations, but it’s like he’s missing a piece of the puzzle. “What did you think it was going to do to me?”

“Look, Potter,” Malfoy says in a surprisingly gentle voice, “I know you think there’s something here, so let me put you out of your misery: I have no interest in you. I don’t care what some half-baked wannabe clone said to you. It’s not going to happen.”

Harry turns his head to look at Malfoy. He’s staring straight ahead, his face impassive.

“I don’t believe you.”

Malfoy’s face constricts then, converging into a familiar scowl. “Then maybe you need to step outside your own self-centered, arrogant head and take me at my fucking word.” He leans up on a shoulder to stare down at Harry. “How _dare_ you try and tell me how I feel when you’re still confused about your own feelings.”

“I’m not con – “ Harry tries to explain.

“Yes, you are,” Malfoy interrupts. “You think I’m him. And I’m not. I’ll never be. Your pathetic pushover fantasy lover is gone. Show me some fucking respect and stop confusing him with me.”

Malfoy drops back to the ground, his eyes returning to the sky, his face still screwed up in his anger.

“You’re right,” Harry concedes after a moment. All this time he’s been looking for a glimpse of _his_ Draco again, rather than paying attention to the Draco Malfoy here and now. “I’m sorry.”

Malfoy’s face softens. His voice becomes quiet. “Don’t. Don’t apologise to me. Not ever.”

Harry can’t take his eyes away from Malfoy’s face. “Why not?”

“Every bad thing that happens to me is what I deserve.”

“That’s not true.”

Harry watches the side of Malfoy’s face curl upwards but there’s no humour in his smile. “I’m a Death Eater.”

“No, you’re– “

“I’m a Death Eater,” Malfoy repeats, louder this time. “Denial is useless, Potter. It’s a temporary solution.” And then quieter: “I would know.”

The words sit in the air between them. Harry returns his gaze to the sky above them, unsure what to say. Of course, he had always figured Malfoy’s cockiness to be masking his insecurity in some form, but he didn’t expect _this_ , this self depreciating, hopeless, absolute depression.

Harry hears Malfoy shuffling beside him, followed by an unimpressed groan. He turns to see Malfoy raising himself to his feet, looking down at his clothes in his disgust.

“Urgh, how can you just lie in the mud like this? My robes are completely destroyed.”

Harry sits up, ignoring the mud on his own clothes. He pulls out his wand to point at Malfoy. There’s a cleaning spell Hermione taught him in fifth year that he‘s quite confident with. Before he can cast it, Malfoy catches sight of the wand directed at him. He raises a hand.

“No more spells or potions from Harry Potter, thank you very fucking much.”

Harry drops his wand hand immediately, Malfoy’s words cutting a little more than they should. He’ll be forever guilty for hurting Malfoy and by Malfoy’s own rules, he can never even apologise for it.

Malfoy must notice Harry’s deflation, because he sighs a little and runs a hand over his slicked back hair. He opens and closes his mouth a couple of times before finally speaking. “Don’t read into anything when I tell you this. It’s got nothing to do with you and me,” he says with a warning look down at Harry. “I broke up with Blaise. Again. You were right. I was using him.”

Despite the warning, Harry feels himself lighten at the news, his mouth curving upwards of its own accord.

“Not to make you jealous,” Malfoy quickly clarifies. “But for other reasons.”

Harry’s mouth drops down into a frown. “For sex?”

Malfoy laughs loudly, twisting around to stare out at the Great Lake “I don’t need to be dating anyone to have sex. Don’t be so traditional, Potter. And I thought _I_ was the pureblood.”

Harry stares up at Malfoy’s mud soaked back. He seems to have forgotten about his robes. Was he really just using Zabini to push Harry away? It doesn’t make any sense. Not to mention it was a horrible plan that failed miserably.

The Great Lake is uncharacteristically still. They both watch it for a time, Harry half expecting the giant squid to break the surface and wave a tentacle at him. Anything to interrupt the stillness.

Harry coughs to ensure he still has control of his voice before he speaks. “I never thanked you for saving me.”

Malfoy laughs again but it’s only a single syllable, as if out of surprise rather than actual humour. “Don’t,” he says. Harry wonders if that’s now Malfoy’s favourite word. He almost misses the next part: “Neither did I.”

“Let’s call it even.”

Malfoy’s head turns back to look down at Harry. He’s wearing that humourless smile again. “It’s not even, Potter. It’s not even close to even.”

Harry shrugs. “I’m not keeping score.”

Malfoy looks back out across the lake. “I am.”

Of course he is. Harry scrambles to his feet to reach Malfoy’s level. He senses Malfoy watching him even though he continues to stare ahead. “The score doesn’t matter,” Harry says. “With the snitch, it’s anyone’s game.”

Malfoy tilts his head to stare at Harry openly, his face playfully chiding, a single eyebrow raised. “Please don’t turn this into a Quidditch metaphor, Potter. Besides, you always catch the snitch first.”

“We haven’t played in a long time,” Harry replies, seeing an opening and eagerly jumping in to grab it. “Maybe a rematch is in order.”

Malfoy’s eyebrow drops. “Is this still a metaphor? Or are you challenging me to an actual seeker’s battle?”

“Do you accept?”

Malfoy lowers his gaze. “It will ruin my reputation,” he says unconvincingly.

“Only if you lose,” Harry challenges.

Malfoy shakes his head but Harry swears he sees a small smile hidden on his face. “I meant being seen with you.”

“Is that a maybe?” Harry hedges. Actually having a real conversation with Draco Malfoy has put him in dangerous territory. Because now Harry’s even more desperate to spend time with him. And if Malfoy says no…

“Fine.” Harry triumphs internally. Malfoy takes a few steps backwards. “But tonight. After curfew. I fly better in the dark.”

Before Harry can query this, Malfoy is already striding away, shaking the dried-up mud off his robes.

Harry wonders if he should have clarified he was hoping the match might double as a date. He wonders if Malfoy still would have agreed.

 

* * *

 

 “You won.” Harry stares at the fluttering snitch in Malfoy’s hand in disbelief. He had thought he’d had it. It had been hard to even see the snitch in the dark, but coupled with the pelting rain, it was practically impossible. Somehow, he’d caught a glimpse of tiny golden wings and he immediately sprung his broom to action. But that’s all he caught, a glimpse. Because by the time he’d seen it, he was already too late.

Malfoy’s hand had appeared out of nowhere, his fingers curling over the snitch right before Harry’s eyes.

“I told you I fly better in the dark,” Malfoy says, back on the ground, his voice deliberately smug, his lips turned upwards into a smirk. 

It’s still raining down hard on them both but neither seek shelter. They’re already soaked from flying. The rain has battered Malfoy’s usually slick and composed hair delightfully, allowing stray wet strands to scatter and frame his face. Harry stares at him, completely and utterly enchanted.

Malfoy misinterprets this. “I see you about to make another metaphor out of that and I warn you, I will walk away.”

“So if I don’t you’ll stay right here with me?”

“Potter,” Malfoy says tightly. A warning.

“You’re not leaving,” Harry observes.

“Potter.”

“I had fun tonight.” Harry takes a step forward, the sight of Malfoy looking so delectable allowing him a little more boldness than usual.

“Potter.”

“Maybe we can do it again, sometime?” Harry reaches up to play with one of those stray wet strands.

“Potter,” Malfoy says again, his voice faltering.

Harry leans in to Malfoy slowly. “It’s Harry.”

“Harry.”

Malfoy’s breath tickles Harry’s lips. Harry slowly closes the rest of the distance and finally puts his lips to Malfoy’s.

Malfoy’s lips are surprisingly soft, but certainly not unwelcomingly so. Wet too. But Harry hardly notices the sharp pelts of rain anymore, his sensations fully focused on Draco Malfoy before him, and more specifically, Draco Malfoy’s delicate lips.

Harry lets the hand in Malfoy’s hair slip to cup his face, and Malfoy leans into it, tilting his head, drawing Harry deeper into the kiss.  And then everything changes.

Harry isn’t sure who starts it but all at once their kiss speeds up, delicacy lost. Harry’s other hand clings onto Malfoy’s waist, Malfoy’s hands are in Harry’s hair, holding on so tightly it should be painful. And Harry can no longer ignore the pelting rain, instead each drop that bears down them seeming to complement the kiss, heightening every feeling.

Heightening the feel of Draco Malfoy’s tongue down his throat, heightening the feel of Draco Malfoy biting his lip, heighten the feel of Draco Malfoy moaning into mouth.

They break apart as the rain begins to wean off, both panting, although Harry notices Malfoy trying to stifle his heaving breathing, as if not willing to show how affected he is. Which seems rather pointless following the sounds he’d been making during the kiss.

Harry knows he’s sporting a stupid grin on his face, but he can’t bring himself to care. Not after that kiss. Although, it droops a little when he notices Malfoy isn’t smiling.

 “I distinctly remember you being told to let me apologise first.”

Harry had forgotten about that. And gladly so. Imagine missing out on _that_ kiss. But he supposes it was important to Draco, so it should be important to him.  “You can do it before our next kiss,” he suggests, hoping the next one will be sooner rather than later.

Malfoy isn’t looking at him. “There’s not going to be another, Potter.”

The proud son of a bitch. Despite Malfoy’s claim, Harry is quite certain after a kiss like that, an apology will be forth-coming. He just has to make Malfoy want it enough.

 “Not if you don’t apologise,” he teases, picking up his broom and backing up, preparing to head back to the castle, expecting _and hoping_ Malfoy will follow him.

He doesn’t have to wait long. “Wait.” Harry smiles, as Malfoy hurries to catch up. “Potter, wait.” Harry stops in his tracks and turns to Malfoy whose eyes are focused on Harry’s feet. “I _am_ sorry. I know I’m a prat. I know I’ve done unforgiveable things. There’s so many things I regret. So many people I might have been able to save if I wasn’t such a pathetic coward. And so many people I’ve hurt with my cruelty and ignorance, you especially.” Malfoy sighs and looks up to meet Harry’s eye. “I’m sorry.”

Harry smiles. He didn’t need the apology to forgive Malfoy but he suspects it meant more to Malfoy to say it aloud. And now that it’s over with…he leans in to Malfoy’s lips ready to start another frantic snogging session.

But Malfoy takes a step back.

“No, no, stop,” he says, raising a hand between them. “That’s not why I’m saying this, Potter. I don’t want to kiss you again. Ever. I just needed you to know that I truly am sorry.”

Harry pauses a second, his brain ticking over, processing. “Ever? But – “

“I shouldn’t have let that happen. Again, I’m sorry. I’m a prat.” He drops his hand and grips his broom with both. His words become mocking. “Don’t know what you expected, really. I’m Draco Malfoy, remember?”

Harry takes a shallow breath – his chest is too constricted to allow anything more. “I know who you are.”

Malfoy just looks at him sadly as he jumps back on his broom and flies away from the castle. He disappears into the darkness quickly, leaving Harry with no option to follow him.

The heavens open up again and the heavy rain drops hit Harry like bullets, the sound roaring in his ears. He wants to scream. He wants to throw something. Instead, he simply walks back up to the castle, counting every rain pellet on his back.


	13. The Many Sides of Draco Malfoy

When Harry returns to his dorm in the middle of the night, his robes still dripping, he has a bit of explaining to do. Ron pulls him out into the common room immediately, without a word. He forces Harry into a chair and casts a warming charm. Harry hadn’t even realised he’d been shivering.

“Are you okay, mate?” Ron asks, taking the seat opposite.

Harry really wants to say yes. And go to bed. He shakes his head.

“What happened?”

Harry hesitates. He isn’t sure Ron has pieced together his rather obvious feelings for Malfoy yet. “I kissed Dra – Malfoy.”

“You kissed – bloody hell.” Ron sighs. “We need Hermione. Hold on.” He casts a patronus to wake Hermione. Harry doesn’t even have the energy to be impressed.

Hermione appears at the top of the stairs minutes later, hair wild, arms crossed. “Ronald Weasley, it’s past midnight. What – Harry?” Her face softens and she descends the stairs to reach them both, staring down at Harry with concern. He must look terrible.

She casts a drying spell, and another warming spell that by far surpasses Ron’s attempt. Harry instantly feels better. He wishes there was a similar spell for his heart.

“He kissed Malfoy.”

Hermione takes a seat beside Ron. “Was it any good?”

“Hermione!”

Hermione ignores Ron and leans in to Harry. “Well, was it?”

Harry nods. At least for him, it was.

Clearly noticing Harry’s vacant gaze, Hermione’s face begins to look skeptical. “Are you two dating now?”

Harry shakes his head.

Hermione’s eyebrows knit together, her mouth becomes small.  “Do you think you’ll kiss again?”

Harry shakes his head again. “He said he didn’t want to. _Ever.”_ The words sting him a second time as he repeats them.

“That bloody twat,” Ron spits, standing up. “Who does he think he is? Like he’s going to do any better than the chosen one. He’ll regret that. Want me to go make him regret that?”

The thought of Ron going after Malfoy isn’t completely unwelcome. There’s a part of Harry that’s angry with Malfoy, angry that Malfoy put so much into that kiss only to reject Harry. That part of Harry is very eager for revenge. But the rest of Harry, the larger part, is sad. And very much in love with Malfoy.

“Just leave him. Maybe if I give him some space, he might – maybe he just doesn’t want me. I thought even now, he’d still feel the same. I still feel the same. But he doesn’t. I love him. And he doesn’t.”

Harry blinks as fast as he can to hold back the tears he can feel at the edges of his eyes. He’s not going to cry over Draco bloody Malfoy.

“You  love –“

“Ronald,” Hermione interrupts with a warning glare at Ron. She turns to Harry. “He must still feel something. He kissed you back, didn’t he?”

Harry nods. He remembers it vividly.

Hermione gives Harry a gentle smile, it’s probably supposed to be comforting. “Give him space if you think that’s what he needs, but don’t give up, Harry. We all know Malfoy isn’t the most straightforward person. It’s probably going to take him a little longer to make sense of his own feelings for you.”

Harry wants to believe it. More than anything.  

 

* * *

 

Malfoy seems to be adamant on making Harry think he is ignoring him, without actually properly ignoring him. Harry might usually be an oblivious fool, but since his attention is focused on Malfoy whenever he is within visibility, it’s quite easy to notice the way his eyes drift over to Harry every so often, always disguised with a reason – a turn of his head as he coughs, a roll of his neck as he stretches, a twist of his torso as he itches the middle of his back. They’re all novice moves that Harry is very familiar with.

It’s particularly infuriating because Harry can’t even call him out on it. He knows if he does Malfoy’s just going to deny it and push Harry away again. But it doesn’t make sense! He doesn’t feel the same way Harry does. That’s obvious. But he feels _something_. Maybe it’s only small but it must be there. Or why else would Malfoy have kissed him like that? Why else is Malfoy watching Harry from behind his Defence Against the Dark Arts book, attempting (and failing) to be discreet?

It’s all Harry can take. He stands up and strides towards Malfoy, ready to yank that stupid book from his hands. But he hasn’t been paying attention to class. So, when the rest of the class also stand up and start pairing off, he’s not exactly sure what is happening. But Malfoy must. Because he groans as Harry approaches him and tries to shove him away.

“No, not you. Anyone but you.”

Harry looks around in confusion and then up at their teacher, Professor Varas. She is smiling at Harry. “Good idea, Mr. Potter. I think the two of you will be well-matched.”

Harry turns back to Malfoy. His confusion must show on his face because Malfoy sighs as if dealing with a child and explains. “You’ve just nominated yourself as my dueling partner, Potter, _without_ my permission.”

Professor Varas addresses the class. “Please begin when you and your partner are ready. I shouldn’t be hearing any verbal spells except the odd Protego, but it’s best if you also practice this non-verbally. Remember, you shouldn’t just be shouting the spell in your head. You need to recall the feeling of that particular spell and summon it from yourself, from your wand. Be gentle with each other!”

Before Harry can even raise his wand in preparation, he is thrown backwards by a silence force. Instinctively he points his wand at Malfoy to disarm him, but Malfoy throws up a silent shield charm and then throws something else back Harry’s way. Harry dodges the spell’s path as he pulls himself up from the floor.

He and Malfoy stare at each other for a moment, both wands raised and at the ready. And then they’re off again, casting, twisting, dodging, shielding. The challenge is that Harry has no idea what spells he’s avoiding and shielding, no idea what kind Malfoy is sending his way. No idea the consequences if he’s too late to defend himself. It’s intimidating. But also, a little thrilling.

Professor Varas is right. Malfoy does seem to be the perfect match for Harry. He’s quick. When Harry hesitates, Malfoy is already spells ahead. When Harry pummels him with his full force, Malfoy dodges effortlessly, as if already knowing where Harry will aim. But although Malfoy seems to move at ease, he’s doing quite a bit of it, tiring himself out. Harry knows if he can just keep the duel running for as long as possible, Malfoy will slow down and leave an opening.

Sure enough, Harry witnesses Malfoy start to slip up, he’s still dodging Harry’s spells but the misses are near, the movements only just fast enough. He summons his remaining energy and uses it full force to attack Malfoy with spell after spell, needing only one to break through and hit him. And yes – there it is – right in the chest. Malfoy is sent careening up and backwards. Now Harry just has to disarm and – but no, Malfoy’s about to hit the ground and Harry reacts instinctively, forgetting about the duel and casting a cushioning charm on the floor before impact.

He moves to check on Malfoy but in his hesitation, he has underestimated his dueling partner. In less than a few seconds, his wand lurches out of his hand, and he is forced to the ground, red ropes of smoke twisting around his body and holding him in place. He has lost.

Harry looks up to find Malfoy staring down at him in anger, which doesn’t seem to make sense considering the circumstances. Malfoy releases Harry from the spelled smoke and throws Harry’s wand to the floor, before striding from the classroom.

Harry hastily picks up his wand and stumbles to his feet to follow, dashing out of the classroom, hoping he can still catch up.

He does.

Malfoy turns to face him in the corridor, his face a familiar scowl.  “What did you do that for? You let me win.”

“I didn’t let you. I just didn’t want you to get hurt.”

Malfoy’s eyes close a moment and he lets out an angry sigh before replying. “It’s a duel, Potter. We’re _supposed_ to hurt each other.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Harry can’t understand how _that_ could have angered Malfoy. “Why are you being like this?”

Malfoy rolls his eyes. “I don’t bear you any bad will, Potter. Just don’t give me any special treatment.”

“What do you mean by that?” Harry asks.

“Don’t hesitate in a duel just because you think you care for me.”

Harry blinks. “I _do_ care for you.”

Malfoy laughs, and the sound reverberates unkindly in Harry’s ears. “Merlin, Potter. You probably still think you love me as well.”

“I – “ Harry hesitates, his stomach twisting into a thousand impossible knots – “I do love you.”

Malfoy stops laughing. His face turns hard. “You don’t love me, Potter. You don’t know me. You have a fantasy of  me but it’s not real. You’re in love with _him_.”

“But he…I mean that was you. A part of who you are.”

“So was the Draco Malfoy who tried to kill you. If your boyfriend’s a part of me, then so is he.” Malfoy hard face drops now, the harsh lines giving way to something much sadder.  I’m not the good guy you think I am.”

“Yes, you are.” Harry finally understands, the knots in his stomach begin to unravel. Why didn’t he see it before? “ _This_ is why you’ve been pushing me away. You don’t think you’re good enough.”

Harry can see in Malfoy’s face that he’s right. He takes a step forward wanting to comfort Malfoy, but Malfoy steps back at the same time, quick as he was during the duel.

“You can't have it both ways. If you choose to believe in the good in me, then you also believe in the bad.”

"There's evil inside of you, inside all of us,” – Harry knows that more than most – “but it’s our _choices_ that make us who we are. I watched the good and evil sides of you fight and it was your good side that won. _That's_ who you are.”

Malfoy looks past Harry’s shoulder, avoiding his eye. “It doesn’t change the fact that you’re in love with someone else. You’re not in love with me. As I really am.” Malfoy takes a shaky breath. “I’m not perfect like _him_.”

Harry supposes Malfoy has a point. Perhaps he doesn’t know this Malfoy well enough to truly be in love with him yet. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to. That doesn’t mean they should give up before they’ve even begun. He stares at Malfoy intently, and waits until Malfoy finally returns his gaze before speaking.

“Then _let me_ fall in love with you,” he asks. “Give me a chance. I don’t want you to be perfect. I want the competitive Draco Malfoy, the quick-witted Draco Malfoy.  I want the Draco Malfoy who isn’t afraid to duel me. the Draco Malfoy who will kick my ass in Quidditch. I want the Draco Malfoy who challenges me, the Draco Malfoy who calls me out on my shit. I want _all_ of you.” He drops his voice to a whisper, conscious his voice has been raising with every word. “Let me fall in love with all of you.”

“You won’t,” Malfoy says, his eyes falling to the floor, voice breaking.

“I might.”

Malfoy scoffs. “Very convincing, Potter.” He looks back up at Harry, his hard face returning. “I know what you want.”

Harry almost laughs in disbelief at Malfoy’s stubbornness. “Haven’t you been listening? It’s _you_ I want, irrational, competitive, arrogant prat that you are. _I want you._ ”

Harry means to go slow now. He wants to hold up Malfoy’s chin, and run a hand through his hair. He wants to lean in slowly and feel Malfoy’s breath on his lips before he goes in for a gentle kiss. He wants to make Malfoy see how much he really does care for him, exactly as he is.

But Malfoy’s quicker. His hands reach out and yank Harry’s head towards him, crashing their mouths together before Harry even knows what’s happening. It’s like the Quidditch pitch all over again, but this time there’s no gentle lead in, just Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy clinging onto each other in wild desperation, lips moving in perfect jagged time.

Harry swears he can feel pelts of rain falling down upon his back again, despite the tall Hogwarts ceiling above them. It makes him forget where he really is, makes him forget that anyone could stumble upon them in this corridor. So he allows himself a little recklessness. Allows himself to be lost in his passion for Malfoy. And Malfoy gives as good as he receives.

Harry ends up - much to his delight - pressed up against the wall of the corridor, one of Malfoy's hands gripping onto his shirt as if he might rip it off at any moment and the other in Harry's hair. And his mouth, merlin, _Malfoy's mouth_ , crashing down on Harry's again and again.

Everything feels right.

When their lips finally release each other, Malfoy is panting openly into Harry’s neck, letting Harry hold him up. And that gives Harry more satisfaction than the kiss itself.

“Does that mean you’ll let me fall in love with you?” Harry asks softly into Malfoy’s ear.

There’s a small pause before Malfoy responds. “Fine. But you better hurry up.”

“Wh – “

“Because I’m already in love with you.”

Harry’s heart beats a little louder. “You’re in love – “

“So, it’s only fitting that you catch up quickly,” Malfoy mumbles into Harry’s neck, starting to shower him with small, gentle kisses.

Harry has to stifle his laughter. Falling in love with Draco Malfoy? He can’t think of anything simpler.

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up on [tumblr](http://queenofthyme.tumblr.com/) for more drabbles and things or check out my other works on ao3 <3  
>   
> More like this:  
> [How to Apologise to Harry Potter in 10 Days (18k)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8468365e)  
> [Hot Tea (13k)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10259276)


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